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ON THE FACE OF 

cTU THE WATERS 


BY 

FLORA ANNIE STEEL 

AUTHOR OF “from THE FIVE RIVERS,” “THE 
potter’s thumb,” ETC. 



RAHWAY, N. J. 

THE MERSHON COMPANY 

1896 








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ON THE FACE OF 

THE WATERS 


BY 



FLORA ANNIE STEEL 

>1 


AUTHOR OF “from THE FIVe' RIVERS,” “THE 

potter’s thumb,” etc. 





RAHWAY, N. J. 

THE MERSHON COMPANY 


Copyright, 1896, 

BY 

PAUL R. REYNOLDS. 



THE MERSHON company PRESS 
RAHWAY, N. J. 


PREFACE. 


A WORD of explanation is needed for this book, which, 
in attempting to be at once a story and a history, proba- 
bly fails in either aim. 

That, however, is for the reader to say. As the writer, 
I have only to point out where my history ends, my 
story begins, and clear the way for criticism. Briefly, 
then, I have not allowed fiction to interfere with fact in 
the slightest degree. The reader may rest assured that 
every incident bearing in the remotest degree on the 
Indian Mutiny, or on the part which real men took in it, 
is .scrupulously exact, even to the date, the hour, the 
scene, the very weather. Nor have I allowed the actual 
actors in the great tragedy to say a word regarding it 
which is not to be found in the accounts of eye-witnesses, 
or in their own writings. 

In like manner, the account of the sham court at Delhi 
- — which I have drawn chiefly from the lips of those who 
saw it — is pure history; and the picturesque group of 
schemers and dupes — all of whom , have passed to their 
account — did not need a single touch of fancy in its pre- 
sentment. Even the story of Abool-Bukr and Newasi 
is true ; save that I have supplied a cause for an estrange- 
ment, which undoubtedly did come to a companionship of 
which none speak evil. So much for my facts. 

Regarding my fiction: An Englishwoman was con- 
cealed in Delhi, in the house of an Afghan, and succeeded 
in escaping to the Ridge just before the siege. I have 
imagined another; that is all. I mention this because it 
may possibly be said that the incident is incredible. 

And now a word for my title. I have chosen it because 
when you ask an uneducated native of India why the 
Great Rebellion came to pass, he will, in nine cases out 


VI 


PREFACE. 


of ten, reply, “ God knows ! He sent a Breath into the 
World.” From this to a Spirit moving on the face of 
the Waters is not far. For the rest I have tried to give 
a photograph — that is, a picture in which the differentia- 
tion caused by color is left out — of a time which neither 
the fair race or the dark race is ever likely to quite for- 
get or forgive. 

That they may come nearer to the latter is the object 
with which this book has been written. 


F. A. Steel. 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


BOOK 1 . 

THISTLEDOWN AND GOSSAMER, 


CHAPTER 1 . 
going! going! gone! 

I 

“ Going! Going! Gone! 

The Western phrase echoed over the Eastern scene 
without a trace of doubt in its calm assumption of finality. 
It was followed by a pause, during which, despite the 
crowd thronging the wide plain, the only recognizable 
sound vas the vexed yawning purr of a tiger impatient for 
its prey. It shuddered through the sunshine, strangely 
out of keeping with the multitude of men gathered to- 
gether in silent security; but on that March evening of 
the year 1856, when the long shadows of the surrounding 
trees had begun to invade the sunlit levels of grass by 
the river, at Lucknow, the lately deposed King of Oude’s 
menagerie was being auctioned. It had followed all his 
other property to the hammer, and a perfect Noah’s Ark 
of wild beasts was waiting doubtfully for a change of 
masters. 

“ Going! Going! Gone! ” 

Those three cabalistic words, shibboleth of a whole 
hemisphere’s greed of gain, had just transferred the 
proprietary rights in an old tusker elephant for the sum 
of eighteenpence. It is not a large price to pay for a 
leviathan, even if he be lame, as this one was. Yet the 


2 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

new owner looked at his purchase distastefully, 
even the auctioneer sought support in a gulp of brandy 

and water. / 

“ Fetch up them pollies, Tom,” he said m a dejected 
whisper to a soldier, who, with others of the fatigue party 
on duty, was trying to hustle refractory lots into 
position. “ They’ll be a change after elephants— go off 
lighter like. Then there’s some of them La Martmiery 
boys cornin’ down again as ran up the fightin’ rams 
this mornin’. Wonder wot the ’ead master said! But 
boys is allowed birds, and Lord knov^s we want to be a 
bit brisker than we ’ave bin with guj-putti. But there! 
it’s slave-drivin’ to screw bids for beasts as eats hunder- 
weights out of poor devils as ’aven’t enough for them- 
selves, or a notion of business as business.” 

He shook his head resentfully yet compassionately 
over the impassive dark faces around. He spoke as an 
auctioneer; yet he gave expression to a very common 
feeling which in the early fifties, when the commercial 
instincts of the West met the uncommercial ones of the 
East in open market for the first time, sharpened the an- 
tagonism of race immensely; an inevitable antagonism 
when the creed of one people is that Time is Money, of 
the other that Time is Naught. 

From either standpoint, however, the auction going 
on down by the river Goomtee was confusing; even to 
those who, knowing the causes which had led up to it — 
the unmentionable atrocities, the crass incapacity on the 
one hand, the unsanctioned treaties and crave for 
civilization on the other — were conscious of a distinct 
flavor of Sodom and Gomorrah, the Ark of the Covenant, 
and the Deluge all combined, as they watched the just 
and yet unjust retribution going on. But such specta- 
tors were few, even in the outer fringe of English onlook- 
ers pausing in their evening drive or ride to gratify their 
curiosity. The long reports and replies regarding the 
annexation of Oude which filled the office boxes of the 
elect were unknown to them, so they took the affair as 
they found it. The King, for some reason satisfactory 
to the authorities, had been exiled, majesty being thus 
vested in the representatives of the annexing race: that 


GOING ! GOING 1 GONE • 


3 


is, in themselves. A position which comes naturally to 
most Englishmen. 

To the silent crowds closing round the auctioneer’s 
table the affair was simple also. The King, for some 
unsatisfactory reason, had been ousted from his own. 
His goods and chattels were being sold. The valuable 
ones had been knocked down, for a mere song — ^just to 
keep up the farce of sale — to the Huzoors. The rubbish 
— lame elephants and such like — was being sold to them ; 
more or less against their will, since who could forbear 
bidding sixpence for a whole leviathan? That this was 
in a measure inevitable, that these new-come sahibs were 
bound to supply their wants cheaply when a whole posse 
of carriages and horses, cattle and furniture was thrown 
on an otherwise supplied market, did not, of course, occur 
to those who watched the hammer fall to that strange new 
cry of the strange new master. When does such phil- 
osophy occur to crowds? So when the waning light 
closed each day’s sale and the people drifted back city- 
ward over the boat-bridge they were no longer silent. 
They had tales to tell of how much the barouche and 
pair, or the Arab charger, had cost the King when he 
bought it. But then Wajeed Ali, with all his faults, had 
never been a bargainer. He had spent his revenues 
right royally, thus giving ease to many. So one could 
tell of a purse of gold flung at a beggar, another a life 
pension granted to a tailor for inventing a new way of 
sewing spangles to a waistcoat; for there had been no 
lack of the insensate munificence in which lies the 
Oriental test of royalty, about the King of Oude’s reign. 

Despite this talk, however, the talkers returned day 
after day to watch the auction; and on this, the last one, 
the grassy plain down by the Goomtee was peaceful and 
silent as ever save for the occasional cry of an affrighted 
hungry beast. The sun sent golden gleams over the 
short turf worn to dustiness by crowding feet, and the 
long curves of the river, losing themselves on either side 
among green fields and mango trees, shone like a bur- 
nished shield. On the opposite bank, its minarets show- 
ing fragile as cut paper against the sky, rose the Chutter 
Munzil — the deposed King’s favorite palace. Behind it. 


4 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

above the belt of trees dividing the high Residency 
dens from the maze of houses and hovels still occupied 
by the hangers-on to the late Court, the English 
drooped lazily in the calm floods of yellow light. For the 
rest, were dense dark groves following the glistening 
curve of the river, and gardens gravely gay in pillars of 
white chum-baeli creeper and cypress, long prim lines of 
latticed walls, and hedges of scarlet hibiscus. Here and 
there above the trees, the dome of a mosque or the mina- 
ret of a mausoleum told that the town of Lucknow, scat- 
tered yet coherent, lay among the groves. The most 
profligate town in India which by one stroke of an Eng- 
lish pen had just been deprived of the raison-d’Ure of its 
profligacy, and been bidden to live as best it could in 
cleanly, courtless poverty. 

So, already, there were thousands of workmen in it, 
innocent enough panderers in the past to luxurious vice, 
who were feeling the pinch of hunger from lack of 
employment ; and there were those past employers 
also, deprived now of pensions and offices, with a bank- 
rupt future before them. But Lucknow had a keener 
grievance than these in the new tax on opium, the drug 
which helps men to bear hunger and bankruptcy ; 
so, as the auctioneer said, it was not a place in which to 
expect brisk bidding for wild beasts with large appetites. 
But the parrots roused a faint interest, and the crowd 
laughed suddenly at the fluttering screams of a red and 
blue macaw, as it was tossed from hand to hand, on its 
way to the surprised and reluctant purchaser who had bid 
a farthing for it out of sheer idleness. 

“Another mouth to feed, Shumshu! ” jeered a fellow 
butcher, as he literally flung the bird at a neighbor’s 
head. “ Rather he than I,’’ laughed the recipient, con- 
tinuing the fling. “ Ari! Shumshu, take thy baby. Well 
caught, brother! but what will thy house say? ” 

“ That I have made a fat bargain,” retorted the big, 
coarse owner coolly, as he wrung the bird’s neck, and 
twirled it, a quivering tuft of bright feathers and choking 
cries, above his head. “ Thou’lt buy no meat at a 
farthing a pound, even from my shop. I’ll swear, and 
this bird weighs two, and is delicate as chicken.” 


GOING ! GOING ! GONE ! 


5 


The laugh which answered the sally held a faint 
scream, not wholly genuine in its ring. It came from the 
edge of the crowd, where two English riders had paused 
to see what the fun was about. 

“ Cruel devils, aren't they, Allie? " said one, a tall, fair 
man whose good looks were at once made and marred 
by heaviness of feature. “Why! you’ve turned pale 
despite the rouge!” His tone was full of not over-re- 
spectful raillery; his bold, bloodshot eyes met his com- 
panion’s innocent looking ones with careless admiration. 

“ Don’t be a fool, Erlton,” she replied promptly; and 
the even, somewhat hard pitch of her voice did not 
m.atch the extreme softness of her small, childish face. 
“ You know I don’t rouge; or you ought to. And it was 
horrible, in its way.” 

“ Only what your ladyship’s cook does to your lady- 
ship’s fowls,” retorted Major Erlton. “ You don’t see it 
done, that’s all the difference. It is a cruel world, Mrs. 
Gissing, the sex is the cruelest thing in it, and you, as 
I’m always telling you, are the cruelest of your sex.” 

His manner was detestable, but little Mrs. Gissing 
laughed again. She had not a fine taste in such matters ; 
perhaps because she had no taste for them at all. So, 
in the middle of the laugh, her attention shifted to the 
big white cockatoo which formed the next lot. It had a 
most rumpled and dejected appearance as it tried to keep 
its balance on the ring which the soldier assistant swung 
backward and forward boisterously. 

“Do look at that ridiculous bird!” she exclaimed, 
“ Did you ever see any creature look so foolish?” 

It did, undoubtedly, with its wrinkled gray eyelids 
closed in agonized effort, its clattering gray beak bobbing 
rhythmically toward its scaly gray legs. It roused the 
auctioneer from his depression into beginning in grand 
style. “ Now, then, gentlemen! This is a real treat, 
indeed ! A cockatoo, old as Methusalem and twice 
as wise. It speaks. I’ll be bound. Says ’is prayers — look 
at ’im gemyflexing! and maybe he swears a bit like the 
rest of us. Any gentleman bid a rupee! — a eight annas? 
— a four annas? Come, gentlemen! ” 

“ One anna,” called Mrs. Gissing, with a coquettish 


6 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

nod to the big Major, and aloud aside: Cruel I may be 
to you, sir, but I’ll give that to save the poor brute from 
having its neck wrung.” 

“ Two annas! ” There was a stress of eagerness m the 
new voice which made many in the crowd look whence 
it came. The speaker was a lean old man wearing a faded 
green turban, who had edged himself close to the auction- 
eer’s table and stood with upturned eyes watching the 
bird anxiously. He had the face of an enthusiast, keen, 
remorseless, despite its look of ascetic patience. 

“ Three annas ! ” Alice Hissing’s advance came with 
another nod at her big admirer. 

“ Four annas! ” The reply was quick as an echo. 

A vexed surprise showed on the pretty babyish face. 
‘‘ What an impertinent wretch ! Eight annas — do you 
hear? — eight annas! ” 

The auctioneer bowed effusively. “ Eight annas bid 

for a cockatoo as says ” he paused cautiously, for 

the bidding was brisk enough without exaggeration. 
“ Eight annas once — twice — Going! going ” 

“ One rupee! ” 

Mrs. Gissing gave a petulant jag to her rein. “ Oh! 
come away, Erlton, my charity doesn’t run to rupees.” 

But her companion’s face, never a very amiable one, 

had darkened with temper. “ D- n the impudent 

devil,” he muttered savagely, before raising his voice 
call: “ Two rupees! ” 

“ Five ! ” There was no hesitation still ; only an almost 
clamorous anxiety in the worn old voice. 

“ Ten ! ” Major Erlton’s had lost its first heat, and set- 
tled into a dull decision which made the auctioneer turn 
to him, hammer in hand. Yet the echo was not wantinsf. 

“Fifteen!” ' ^ 

The Englishrnan’s horse backed as if its master’s hand 
lay heavy on the bit. There was a pause, during which 
that shuddering cough of the hungry tiger quavered 
through the calm flood of sunshine, in which the crowd 
stood silently, patiently. 

Fifteen rupees,” began the auctioneer reluctantly, his 
sympathies outraged, “ Fifteen once, twice 


GOING! GOING! GONE! 7 

Then Alice Gissing laughed. The woman’s laugh of 
derision which is responsible for so much. 

“ Jbifty rupees,” said Major Erlton at once. 

The old man in the green turban turned swiftly ; turned 
for the first time to look at his adversary, and in his face 
was intolerant hatred mingled with self-pity; the look of 
one who, knowing that he has justice on his side, knows 
also that he is defeated. 

“ Thank you, sir,” caught up the auctioneer. “ Fifty 
once, twice, thrice! Hand the bird over, Tom. Put it 
down, sir, I suppose, with the other things? ” 

Major Erlton nodded sulkily. He was already be- 
ginning to wonder why he had bought the brute. Mean- 
while Tom, still swinging the cockatoo derisively, had 
jumped from the table into the crowd round it as if the 
sea of heads was non-existent; being justified of his rash- 
ness by its prompt yielding of foothold as he elbowed his 
way outward, shouting for room good-naturedly, and 
answered by swift smiles and swifter obedience. Yet 
both were curiously silent; so that Mrs. Gissing’s voice, 
wondering what on earth Herbert was going to do with 
the creature now that he had bought it, was distinctly 
audible. 

“ Give it to you, of course,” he replied moodily. 
“ You can wring its neck if you choose, Allie. You are 
cruel enough for that, I dare say.” The thought of the 
fifty rupees wasted was rankling fiercely; fifty rupees! 
when he would be hard put to it for a penny if he didn’t 
pull off the next race. Fifty rupees! because a woman 
laughed ! 

But Mrs. Gissing was laughing again. “ I shan’t 
do anything of the kind. I shall give it to your wife. 
Major Erlton. Fm sure she must be dull all alone; and 
then she loves prayers ! ” the absolute effrontery of the 
speech was toned down by her indifferent expression. 
“ Here, sergeant! ” she went on, “ hold the bird up a bit 
higher, please, I want to see if it is worth all that money. 
Gracious! what a hideous brute! ” 

It was, in truth; save for the large gold-circled eyes, 
like strange gems, which opened suddenly as the swing- 
ing ceased. They seemed to look at the dainty little 


8 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

figure taking it in; and then, in an instant, the dejected 
feathers were afluff, the wings outspread, the flarr^- 
colored crest, unseen before, raised like a fiery flag as the 
bird gave an ear-piercing scream. t- • u i 

F' Deen! Deen! Fiitteh Mohammed.” (For the Faith! 
For the Faith! Victory to Mohammed.) 

The war cry of the fiercest of all faiths was unmistak- 
able; the first two syllables cutting the air, keen as a 
knife, the last with the blare as of a trumpet in them. 
And following close on their heels came an indescribable 
sound, like the answering vibration of a church to the 
last deep organ-note. It was a faint murmur from the 
crowd till then so silent. 

“ D n the bird! Hold it back, man! Loosen the 

curb, Allie, for God’s sake, or the brute will be over with 
you ! ” 

Herbert Erlton’s voice was sharp with anxiety as he 
reined his own horse savagely out of the way of his com- 
panion’s, which, frightened at the unexpected commotion, 
was rearing badly. 

“All right,” she called; there was a little more color 
on her child-like face, a firmer set of her smiling mouth : 
that was all. But the hunting crop she carried fell in one 
savage cut after another on the startled horse’s quarters. 
It plunged madly, only to meet the bit and a dig of the 
spur. So, after two or three unavailing attempts to un- 
seat her, it stood still with pricked ears and protesting 
snorts. 

“ Well sat, Allie! By George, you can ride! I do like to 
see pluck in a woman ; especially in a pretty one.” The 
Major’s temper and his fears had vanished alike in his 
admiration. Mrs. Gissing looked at him curiously. 

“ Did you think I was a coward?” she asked lightly; 
and then she laughed. “ I’m not so bad as all that. But 
look! There is your wife coming along in the new vic- 
toria — it’s an awfully stylish turn-out, Herbert; I wish 
Gissing would give me one like it. I suppose she has 
been to church. It’s Lent or something, isn’t it? Any- 
how, she can take that screaming beast home.” 

“ You’re not ” began the Major, but Mrs. Gissing 

had already ridden up to the carriage, making it impossi- 


GOING / GOING /. GONE ! 


9 


ble for the solitary occupant to avoid giving the order to 
stop. She was rather a pale woman, who leaned listlessly 
among the cushions. 

“ Good evening, Mrs. Erlton,’’ said the little lady, 
“ been, as you see, for a ride. But we were thinking of 
you and hoping you would pray for us in church.” 

Kate Erlton's eyebrows went up, as they had a trick 
of doing when she was scornful. “ I am only on my way 
thither as yet,” she replied; ‘‘ so that now I am aware of 
your wishes I can attend to them.” 

The obvious implication roused the aggressor to 
greater recklessness. “Thanks! but we really deserve 
something, for we have been buying a parrot for you. 
Erlton paid a whole fifty rupees for it because it said its 
prayers and he thought you would like it! ” 

“ That was very kind of Major Erlton,” — there was 
a fine irony in the title, — “ but, as he knows, Em not fond 
of things with gay feathers and loud voices.” 

The man, listening, moved his feet restlessly in his 
stirrups. It was too bad of Allie to provoke these spar- 
ring matches. Foolish, too, since Kate’s tongue was 
sharp when she chose to rouse herself. None sharper, in 
his opinion. 

“ If you don’t want the bird,” he interrupted shortly, 
“ tell the groom to wring its neck.” 

Mrs. Gissing looked at him, her reproachful blue eyes 
perfect wells of simplicity. “ Wring its neck! How can 
you, when you paid all that money to save it from being 
killed! That is the real story, Mrs. Erlton; it is 
indeed ” 

He interrupted his wife’s quick glance of interest im- 
patiently. “ The main point being that I had, or shall 
have to pay fifty rupees — which I must get. So I must 
be off to the racecourse if I don’t want to be posted. I 
ought to have been there a quarter of an hour ago; 
should have been but for that confounded bird. Are you 
coming, Mrs. Gissing, or not? ” 

“ Now, Erlton! ” she replied, “ don’t be stupid. As if 
he didn’t knc^w, Mrs. Erlton, that I am every bit as much 
interested as he is in the match with that trainer man! — 
what’s his name, Erlton? Greyman — isn’t it? I have 


TO ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

endless gloves on it, sir, so of course I’m coming to see 
fair play.” 

Major Erlton shot a rapid glance at her, as if to see 
what she really meant; then muttered something angrily 
about chaff as, with a dig of his heels, he swung his 
horse round to the side of hers. 

Kate Erlton watched their figures disappear behind 
the trees, then turned indifferently to the groom who was 
waiting for orders with the cockatoo. But she started 
visibly in finding herself face to face with a semi-circle 
of spectators which had gathered about the figure of an 
old man in a faded green turban who stood close beside 
the groom, and who, seeing her turn, salaamed, and with 
clasped hands began an appeal of some sort. So much 
she gathered from his bright eyes, his tone ; but no more, 
and all unconsciously she drew back to the furthest cor- 
ner of the carriage, as if to escape from what she did not 
understand, and therefore did not like. That, indeed, 
was her attitude toward all things native. Yet at times, 
as now, she felt a dim regret at her own ignorance. 
What did he want? What were* they thinking of, those 
dark, incomprehensible faces closing closer and closer 
round her? What could they be thinking of, uncivil- 
ized, heathen, as they were? tied to hateful, horrible be- 
liefs and customs, unmentionable thoughts ; so the innate 
repulsion of the alien overpowered her dim desire to be 
kind. 

“ Drive on ! ” she called in her clear, soft voice, “ drive 
on to the church.” 

The grooms, new taken from royal employ, — for the 
victoria had been one of the spoils of the auction, — began 
their arrogant shouting to the crowd; the coachman, 
treating it also in royal fashion, cut at his. horses regard- 
less of their plunging. So after an instant’s scurry and 
flurry, a space was cleared, and the carriage rolled off. 
The old man, left standing alone, looked after it silently 
for a moment, then flung his arms skyward. 

“O God, reward them! reward them to the uttermost!” 
The appeal, however, seemed too indefinite for solace, 
and he turned for closer sympathy to the crowd. “ The 
bird is mine, brothers! I lent it to the King, to teach his 


GOING ! GOING ! GONE ! 


II 


the Cry-of- Faith that I had taught it But the Huzoors 
would not listen, or they would not understand. It was 
a little thing to them! So I brought all I had, thinking 
to buy mine own again. But yonder hell-doomed infidel 
hath it for nothing — for he paid nothing; and here — here 
is my money! ” He drew a little bag from his breast and 
held it up with shaking hand. 

“For nothing!” echoed the crowd, seizing on what 
interested it most. “ For sure he paid nothing.” 

The murmur, spreading from man to man in doubt, 
wonder, assertion, was interrupted by a voice with the re- 
sonance and calm in it of one accustomed to listeners. 
“ Nay! not for nothing. Have patience. The bird may 
yet give the Great Cry in the house of the thief. I, 
Ahmed-oolah, the dust of the feet of the Most High, say 
it. Have patience. God settles the accounts of men.” 

“ It is the Moulvie,” whispered some, as the gaunt, 
hollow-eyed speaker moved out of the crowd, a good 
head and shoulders taller than most there. “ The 
Moulvie from Fyzabad. He preaches in the big Mosque 
to-night, and half the city goes to hear him.” The 
whispering voices found a background to the recurring 
cry of the auctioneer, “Going! Going! Gone!” as lot 
after lot fell to the hammer, while the crowd listened to 
both, or drifted cityward with the memory of them linger- 
ing insistently. 

“ Going! Going! Gone! ” What was going? Every- 
thing, if tales were true; and there were so many tales 
nowadays. Of news flashed faster by wires than any, 
even the gods themselves, could flash it; of carriages, 
fire-fed, bringing God knows what grain from God knows 
where! Could a body eat of it and not be polluted? 
Could the children read the school books and not be 
apostate? Burning questions these, not to be answered 
lightly. And as the people, drifting homeward in the 
sunset, asked them, other sounds assailed their ears. 
The long-drawn chant of the call to prayer from the 
Mohammedan mosques, the clashing of gongs from the 
Hindoo temples, the soliiary clang of the Ci.ristian church 
bell. Diverse, yet similar in this, that each called Life 
to face Death, not as an end, but as a beginning; called 


12 ON THE PACE OF THE WATERS. 

with more insistence than usual in the church, where a 
special missionary service was being held, at which a 
well-known worker in the vineyard was to give an ad- 
dress on the duty of a faithful soldier of Christ in a 
heathen land. With greater authority in the mosque also, 
where the Moulvie was to lay down the law for each sol- 
' dier of the faith in an age of unbelief and change. Only 
in the Hindoo temples the circling lights flickered as 
ever, and there was neither waxing nor waning of wor- 
ship as mortality drifted in, and drifted out, hiding the 
rude stone symbol of regeneration with their chaplets of 
flowers; the symbol of Life-in-Death, of Death-in-Life. 
The cult of the Inevitable. 

There was no light in these dark shrines, save the 
circling cresset; none, save the dim reflection of dusk 
from white marble, in the mosque where the Moulvie’s 
sonorous voice sent the broad Arabic vowels rebounding 
from dome to dome. But in the church there was a 
blaze of lamps, and the soldierly figure at the reading 
desk showed clear to the men and women listening 
leisurely in the cushioned pews. Yet the words were 
stirring enough ; there was no lack of directness in them. 
Kate Erlton, resting her chin on her hand, kept her eyes 
on the speaker closely as his voice rose in a final con- 
fession of the faith that was in him. 

‘‘ I conceive it is ever the hope and aim of a true 
Christian that his Lord should make him the happy 
instrument of rescuing his neighbor from eternal damna- 
tion. In this belief I find it my duty to be instant in sea- 
son and out of season, speaking to all, sepoys as well as 
civilians, making no distinction of persons or place, since 
with the Lord there are no such distinctions. In the 
temporal matters I act under the orders of my earthly 
superior, but in spiritual matters I own no allegiance 
save to Christ. So, in trying to convert my sepoys, I 
act as a Christian soldier under Christ, and thus, by keep- 
ing the temporal and spiritual capacities in which I have 
to act clearly under their respective heads, I render unto 
Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, to God the things that 
are God’s.”* 

* From Colonel W. Wheler’s defense. 


GOING! GOING! GONE! . 

There was a little rustle of satisfaction and relief from 
the pews, the hymn closing the service went with a swing, 
and the congregation, trooping out into the scented even- 
ing air, fell to admiring the address. 

“ And he looked so handsome and soldierly, didn’t 
he? ” said one voice with a cadence of sheer comfortable- 
ness in it as the owner nestled back in the barouche. 

" Quite charming! ” assented another. “ And to think 
of a man like that, brave as a lion, submitting to be 
hustled off his own parade ground because his sepoys 
objected to his preaching. It is an example to us all! ” 

“ I wouldn’t give much for the discipline of his regi- 
ment,” began Kate Erlton impulsively, then paused, 
certain of her hearers, uncertain of herself; for she was 
of those women who use religion chiefly as an anodyne 
for the heartache, leaving her intellect to take care of 
itself. With the result that it revenged itself, as now, by 
sudden flashes of reason which left her helpless before 
her own common sense. 

“ My dear Mrs. Erlton! ” came a shocked coo, “ disci- 
pline or no discipline, we are surely bound to fight the 
good Gracious heavens! what is that?” 

It . was the cockatoo. Roused from a doze by the 
movement of Kate’s carriage toward the church-door, it 
had dashed at once into the war-cry — '' Deen! Deen! 
Futteh Mohammed! ” 

The appositeness of the interruption, however, was 
quite lost on the ladies, who were too ignorant to recog- 
nize it ; so their alarm ended in a laugh, and the sug- 
gestion that the bird would be a noisy pet. 

■ Thus, with worldly gossip coming to fill the widen- 
ing spaces in their complacent piety, they drove home- 
ward together where the curving river shimmered faintly 
in the dark, or through scented gardens where the 
orange-blossom showed as faintly among the leaves, like 
star-dust on a dark sky. 

But Kate Erlton drove alone, as she generally did. She 
was one of those women whose refinement stands in their 
wav ; who are gourmets of life, failing to see that the very 
fastidiousness of their palate argues a keener delight in 
its pleasures than that of those who take them more 


14 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

simply, perhaps more coarsely. And as she drove, her 
mind diverted listlessly to the semicircle of dark faces she 
had left unanswered. What had they wanted? Nothing 
worth hearing, no doubt! Nothing was worth much in 
this weary land of exile where the heart-hunger for one 
little face and voice gnawed at your vitality day and night. 
For Kate Erlton set down all her discontent to the fact 
that she was separated from her boy. Yet she had sent 
him home of her own free will to keep him from growing 
up in the least like his father. And she had stayed with 
that father simply to keep him within the pale of respecta- 
bility for the boy’s sake. That was what she told herself. 
She allowed nothing for her own disappointment; nothing 
for the keen craving for sentiment which lay behind her 
refinement. All she asked from fate was that the future 
might be no worse than the past; so that she could 
keep up the fiction to the end. 

And as she drpve, a sudden sound made her start, for 
— soldier’s wife though she was — the report of a rifle 
always set her heart a-beating. Then from the darkness 
came a long-drawn howl; for over on the other side of 
the river they were beginning to shoot down the hungry 
beasts which all through the long sunny day had found 
no master. 

The barter of their lives was complete. The last 

Going! Going! Gone! ” had come, and they had passed 
to settle the account elsewhere. So, amid this dropping 
fire of kindly meant destruction, the night fell soft and 
warm over the shimmering river and the scented gardens 
with the town hidden in their midst. 


CHAPTER II. 

HOME, SWEET HOMe! 

You sent for me, I believe, Mrs. Erlton.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Greyman, I sent for you.” 

Both voices^ came reluctantly into the persistent cooing 
of doves which filled the room, for the birds were 


HOME, SWEET HOME I 


15 


perched among a coral begonia overhanging the ver- 
anda. But the man had so far the best of it in the diffi- 
cult interview which was evidently beginning, in that 
he stood with his back to the French window through 
which he had just entered; his face, therefore, was in 
shadow. Hers, as she paused, arrested by surprise, 
faced the light. For Kate Erlton, when she sent for 
James Greyman in the hopes of bribing him to silence re- 
garding the match which had been run the evening 
before between his horse and her husband^s, had not ex- 
pected to see a gentleman in the person of an ex-jockey, 
trainer, and general hanger-on to the late King’s stables. 
The diamonds with which she had meant to purchase 
honor lay on the table, but this man would not take 
diamonds. What would he take? She scanned his face 
anxiously, yet with a certain relief in her disappointment ; 
for the clean-shaven contours were fine, if a trifle stern; 
and the mouth, barely hidden by a slight mustache, was 
thin-lipped, well cut. 

“Yes! I sent for you,” she continued — and the even 
confidence of her own voice surprised Ker. “ I meant to 
ask how much you would want to keep this miserable 

business quiet; but now ” She paused, and her 

hand, which had been resting on the center table, shifted 
its position to push aside the jewel-case; as if that were 
. sufficient explanation. 

“ But now?” he echoed formally, though his eyes fol- 
lowed the action. She raised hers to his, looking him 
full in the face. They were beautiful eyes, and their cold 
gray blue, with the northern glint of steel in it, gave 
James Greyman an odd thrill. He had not looked into 
eyes like these for many a long year. Not since, in a 
room just like this one, homely and English in every 
twist and turn of foreign flowers and furniture, he had 
ruined his life for a pair of eyes, as coldly pure as these, 
to look at. He did not mean to do it again. 

“ But now I can only ask you to be kind, and gener- 
ous, Mr. Greyman! I want you to save my husband 
from the disgrace your claim must bring — if you press it.” 

Once more the monotonous cooing from the outside 
filled the darkness and the light of the large, lofty room. 


l6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

For it was curiously dark in the raftered roof and the dis- 
tant corners; curiously light in the great bars of golden 
sunshine slanting across the floor. In one of them James 
Greyman stood, a dark silhouette against an arch of pale 
blue sky, wreathed by the climbing begonia. He was a 
man of "about forty, looking younger than his age, taller 
than his real height, by reason of his beardless face and 
the extreme ease and grace of his figure. He was burned 
brown as a native by constant exposure to the sun; but 
as he stooped to pick up his glove which had slipped 
from his hold, a rim of white showed above his wrist. 

“So I supposed; but why should I save him?” he 
said briefly. The question, thus crudely put, left her 
without reply for a minute; during which he waited. 
Then, with a new tinge of softness in his voice, he went 
on: “ It was a mistake to send for me. I thought so at 
the time, though, of course, I had no option. But 
now 

“ But now? ” she echoed in her turn. 

“ There is nothing to be done save to go away again.” 
He turned at the words, but she stopped him by a 
gesture. 

“ Is there not? ” she asked. “ I think there is, and so 
wil you if you understand — if you will wait and let me 
speak.” His evident impatience made her add quickly, 
“ You can at least do so much for me, surely? ” 
There was a quiver in her voice now, and it surprised her 
as her previous calm had done ; for what was this man to 
her that his unkindness should give pain? 

“ Certainly,” he said, pausing at once, “ but I under- 
stand too much, and I cannot see the use of raking up 
details. You know them — or think you do. Either way 
they do not alter the plain fact that I cannot help — be- 
cause I would not if I could. That sounds brutal; but, 
unfortunately, it is true. And it is best to tell the truth, 
as far as it can be told.” 

A faint smile curved her lips. “ That is not far. If 
you will wait I will tell you the truth to the bitter end.” 

He looked at her with sudden interest, for her pride 
attracted him. She was not in the least pretty; she 
might be any age from five-and-twenty to five and-thirty. 
And she — well! she was a lady. But would she tell the 


HOME, SWEET HOME! 17 

truth? Women, even ladies, seldom did; still he must 
wait and hear what she had to say. 

“ I sent for you,’' she began, “ because, knowing you 
were an adventurer, a man who had had to leave the 
army under a cloud — in disgrace ” 

He stared at her blankly. Here was the truth about 
himself at any rate! 

“ I thought, naturally, you would be a man who would 
take a bribe. There are diamonds in that case; for 
money is scarce in this house.” She paused, to gain 
firmness for what came next. “ I was keeping them for 
the boy. I have a son in England and he will have to go 
to school soon ; but I thought it better to save his father’s 
reputation instead. They are fine diamonds” — she 
drew the case closer and opened it — the sunshine, stream- 
ing in, caught the facets of the stones, turning them to 
liquid light. “ You needn’t tell me they are no use,” she 
w^ent on quickly, as he seemed about to speak ; “ I am not 
stupid; but that has nothing to do with the question. I 
want you to save my husband — don’t interrupt me, please, 
for I do want you to understand, and I will tell you the 
truth. You asked me why? and you think, no doubt, 
that he does not deserve to be saved. Do you think I 
do not know that? Mr. Greyman! a wife knows more of 
her husband than anyone else can do; and I have known 
for so many years.” 

A sudden softness came into her hearer’s eyes. That 
was true at any rate. She must know many things of 
which she could not speak; a sort of horror at what she 
must know, with a man like Major Erlton as her hus- 
band, held him silent. 

“Yet I have saved him so far,” she went on, “ but if 
what happened yesterday becomes public property all my 
trouble is in vain. He will have to leave the regi- 
ment ” 

“ He is not the first man, as you were kind enough to 
mention just now,” interrupted James Greyman, “ who 
has had to leave the army under a cloud. He would sur- 
vive it — as others have done.” 

“ I was not thinking of him at all,” she replied quietly. 
“ I was thinking of my son; my only son.” 

“ There are other only sons also, Mrs. Erlton,” he re- 


1 8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

torted. I was my mother’s, but I don’t think the fact 
was taken into consideration by the court-martial. Why 
should I be more lenient? You have come to the wrong 
person when you come to me for charity or considera- 
tion. None was shown to me.” 

Perhaps because you did not need it,” she said 
quickly. 

“ Not need it? ” 

“ Many a man falls under the shadow of a cloud blame- 
lessly, What do they want with charity? ” 

He rose swiftly and so, facing the light again, stood 
looking out into it. “ I am obliged to you,” he said after 
a pause. “ Whether you are right or wrong doesn’t 
affect the question from which we have wandered. Ex- 
cept — ” he turned to her again with a certain eagerness 
— “ Mrs. Erlton! You say you are prepared to tell the 
truth to the bitter end ; then for Heaven’s sake let us have 
it for once in our lives. You never saw me before, nor 
I you. It is not likely we shall ever meet again. So we 
can speak without a past or a future tense. You ask 
me to save your husband from the consequences of his 
own cheating. I ask why? Why should I sacrifice 
myself? Why should I suffer? for, mark you, there 
were heavy bets ” 

“ There are the diamonds,” she interrupted, pointing 
to them; their gleam was scarcely brighter than her 
scornful eyes. 

He gave a half smile. “ Doubtless there are the dia- 
monds! I can have my equivalent, so far, if I choose; 
but I don’t choose. It does not suit me personally; so 
that is settled. I can’t do this thing, then, to please 
myself. Now, let us go on. You are a religious woman, 
I think, Mrs. Erlton — you have the look of one. Then 
you will say that I should remember my own frailty, and 
forgive as I would be forgiven. Mrs. Erlton! I am no 
better than most men, no doubt, but I never remember 
cheating at cards or pulling a horse as your husband 
does — it is the brutal truth between us, remember. And 
if you tell me I’m bound to protect a man from the 
natural punishment of a great crime because I’ve stolen 
a pin, I say you are wrong. That theory won’t hold 


HOME, SWEET HOME! 


19 


water. If our own faults, even our own crimes, are to 
make us tender over these things in others, there must be 
— what, if I remember right, my Colenso used to call an 
arithmetical progression in error until the Day of Judg- 
ment; for the odds on sin would rise with every crime. 
I don’t believe in mercy, Mrs. Erlton. I never did. 
Justice doesn’t need it. So let us leave religion alone 
too, and come to other things — altruism — charity — what 
you will. Now who will benefit by my silence? Will 
you? You said just now that a wife knows more of her 
husband than a stranger can. I well believe it. That is- 
why I ask you to tell me frankly, if you really think that 
a continuance of the life you lead with him can benefit 
you? ” He leaned over the table, resting his head on his 
hand, his eyes on hers, and then added in a lower voice, 
“ The brutal truth, please. Not as a woman to man, or, 
for the matter of that, woman to woman; but soul to 
soul, if there be such a thing.” 

She turned away from him and shook her head. “ It 
is for thfe boy’s sake,” she said in muffled tones. “ It 
will be better for him, surely.” 

“ The boy,” he echoed, rising with a sense of relief. 
She had not lied, this woman with the beautiful eyes; she 
had simply shut the door in his face. “ You have a por- 
trait of him, no doubt, somewhere. I should like to see 
it. Is that it, over the mantelpiece? ” 

He walked over to a colored photograph, and stood 
looking at it silently, his hands — holding his hunting 
crop — clasped loosely behind his back. Kate noticed 
them even in her anxiety; for they were noticeable, ner- 
vous, fine-cut hands, matching the figure. 

“ He is not the least like you. He is the very image of 
his father,” came the verdict. “ What right have you to 
suppose that anything you or I can do now will over- 
come the initial fact that the boy is your husband’s son, 
any more than it will ease you of the responsibility of 
having chosen such a father for the boy? ” 

She gave a quick cry, more of pain than anger, and 
hid her face on the table in sudden despair. 

You are very cruel,” she said indistinctly. 

He walked back toward her, remorseful at the sight of 


20 


ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


her miserable self-abasement. He had not meant to hit 
so hard, being accustomed himself to facing facts with- 
out flinching. 

“Yes! I am cruel; but a life like mine doesn’t make 
a man gentle. And 1 don’t see how this trivial conceal- 
ment of fact — for that is all it would be — can change the 

boy’s character or help him. If I did ” he paused. 

“ 1 should like to help you if I could, Mrs. Erlton, if only 
because you — you refused me charity! But I cannot 
see my way. It would do no one any good. Begin 
with me. I’m not a religious man, Mrs. Erlton. I don’t 
believe in the forgiveness of sins. So my soul — if I have 
one — wouldn’t benefit. As for my body? At the risk 
of you offering me diamonds again,” — he smiled charm- 
ingly, — I must mention that I should lose — how much 
is a detail — by concealment. So I must go out of the 
question of benefit. Then there is you ” 

He broke off to walk up and down the room thought- 
fully, then to pause before her. “ I wish you to believe,” 
he said, “ that I want really to understand the truth, but 
I can’t, because I don’t know one thing. I don’t know 
if you love your husband— or not.” 

She raised her head quickly with a fear behind the 
resentment of her eyes. “ Put me outside the question 
too. I have told you that already. It is the simplest, 
the best way.” 

He bowed cynically. She came no nearer to truth 
than evasion. 

“ If you wish it, certainly. Then there is the boy. 
You want to prevent him from realizing that his father 
is a — let us twist the sentence — what his father is. You 
have, I expect, sent him away for this purpose. So far 
good. But will this concealment of mine suffice? Will 
no one else blab the truth? Even if concealment suc- 
ceeds all along the line, will it prevent the boy from fol- 
lowing in his father’s steps if he has inherited his father’s 
nature as well as his face? Wouldn’t it be a deterrent in 
that case to know early in life that such instincts can’t be 
indulged with impunity in the society of gentlemen? 
You will never have the courage to keep the boy out of 
your, life altogether as you are doing now. Sooner or 


HOME, SWEET HOME! 


21 


later you will bring him back, he will bring himself back, 
and then, on the threshold of life, he will have an example 
of successful dishonesty put before him. Mrs. Erlton! 
you can’t keep up the fiction always; so it is better for 
you, for me, for him, to tell the truth — and I mean to 
tell it.” 

She rose swiftly to her feet and faced him, thrusting 
her hair back from her forehead passionately, as if to 
clear away aught that might obscure her brain. 

‘‘ And for my husband? ” she asked. “ Have you no 
word for him? Is he not to be thought of at all? You 
asked me just now if I loved him, and I was a coward. 
Well! I do not love him — more’s the pity, for I can’t 
make up the loss of that to him anyhow. But there is 
enough pity in his life without that. Can’t you see it? 
The pity that such things should be in life at all. You 
called me a religious woman just now. I’m not, really. 
It is the pity of such things without a remedy that drives 
me to believe, and the pity of it which drives me back 
again upon myself, as you have driven me now. For 
you are right! Do you think I can’t see the shame? 
Do you think I don’t know that it is too late — that I 
should have thought of all this before I called my boy’s 

nature out of the dark? And yet ” her face grew 

sharp with a pitiful eagerness, she moved forward and 
laid her hand on his arm. “ It is all so dark! You said 
just now that I couldn’t keep up the fiction; but need it 
be a fiction always? What do we know? God gives 
men a chance sometimes. He gives the whole world a 
chance sometimes of atoning for many sins. A Spirit 
moves on the Waters of life bringing something to 
cleanse and heal. It may be moving now. Give my 
husband his chance, Mr. Greyman, and I will pray that, 
whatever it is, it may come quickly.” 

He had listened with startled eyes; now his hand 
closed on hers in swift negation. 

“ Don’t pray for that,” he said, in a quick low voice, 
“ it may come too soon for some of us, God knows — too 
soon for many a good man and true!” Then, as if 
vexed at his own outburst, he drew back a step, looking 
at her with a certain resentment. 


2 2 ON THE FACE OF THE IF A TEES. 

“ You plead your cause well, Mrs. Erlton, and it is a 
stronger argument than you perhaps guess. So let him 
have this chance that is coming. Let us all have it, you 
and I into the bargain. No! don’t be grateful, please, 
for he may prove himself a coward, among other things. 
So may I, for that matter. One never knows until the 
chance comes for being a hero — or the other thing.” ' 

“ When the chance comes we shall see,” she said, try- 
ing to match his light tone. “ Till then, good-by — you 
have been very kind.” She held out her hand, but he did 
not take it. 

“ Pardon me! I have been very rude, and you ” 

he paused in his half-jesting words, stooped over her 
outstretched hand and kissed it. 

Kate stood looking at the hand with a slight frown 
after his horse’s hoofs died away; and then with a smile 
she shut the jewel case. Not that she closed the incident 
also; for full half an hour later she was still going over 
all the details of the past interview. And everything 
seemed to hinge on that unforeseen appeal of hers for a 
chance of atonement, on that unpremeditated strange 
suggestion that a Spirit might even then be moving on 
the face of the waters; until, in that room gay with Eng- 
lish flowers, and peaceful utterly in its air of security, a 
terror seized on her body and soul. A causeless terror, 
making her strain eyes and ears as if for a hint of what 
was to come and make cowards or heroes of , them all. 

But there was only the flowerful garden beyond the 
arched veranda, only the soft gurgle of the doves. Yet 
she sat with quivering nerves till the sight of the gar- 
dener coming as usual with his watering pot made her 
smile at the unfounded tragedy of her imaginings. 

As she passed into the veranda she called to him, in 
the jargon which served for her orders, not to forget a 
plentiful supply to the heartsease and the sweet peas ; for 
she loved her poor clumps of English annuals more than 
all the scented and blossoming shrubs which in those 
late March days turned the garden into a wilderness of 
strange perfumed beauty. But her cult of home was a 
religion with her; and if a visitor remarked that any- 
thing in her environment was reminiscent of the old 


HOME, SWEE 2 ' HOME! 23 

country, she rejoiced to have given another exile what 
was to her as the shadow of a rock in a thirsty land. 

So, her eye catching something barely up to western 
mark in the pattern of a collar her tailor was cutting for 
her new dress, she crossed over to where he squatted in 
the further corner of the veranda. 

“That isn’t right. Give me something to cut — here! 
this will do.” 

She drew a broad sheet of native paper from the 
bundle of scraps beside him, and began on it with the 
scissors; too full of her idea to notice the faint negation 
of the man’s hand. ” There! ” she said after a few deft 
snippings, “ that is new fashion.” 

“ Huzoor! ” assented the tailor submissively as, appar- 
ently from tidiness, he put away the remainder of the 
paper, before laying the new-cut pattern on the cloth. 

His mistress looked down at it critically. There was 
a broad line of black curves and square dots right across 
the pattern suggestive of its having been cut from a title- 
page. But to her ignorance of the Persian character 
they were nothing but the curves and dots, though the 
tailor’s eyes read clearly in them ‘‘ The Sword is the Key 
of Heaven.” 

For he, in company with thousands of other men, had 
been reading the famous pamphlet of that name; read- 
ing it with that thrill of the heart-strings which has been 
the prelude to half the discords and harmonies of his- 
tory. Since, quaintly enough, those who may hope to 
share your heaven are always friends, those who can with 
certainty be consigned to hell, your enemies. 

“ That is all right,” she said. “ Cut it well on the bias, 
so that it won’t pucker.” 

As she turned away, she felt the vast relief of being 
able to think of such trivialities again after the strain and 
stress of the hours since her husband had come home 
from the race course, full of excited maledictions on the 
mean, underhand bribery and spying which might make 
it necessary for him to send in his papers — if he could, 
Kate had heard stories of a similar character before; 
since Major Erlton knew by experience that she had his 
reputation more at heart than he had himself, and that 


24 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

her brain was clearer, her tact greater than his. But 
she had never heard one so hopeless. Unless this 
jockey Greyman, who, her husband said, was so mixed 
up with native intrigue as to have any amount of false 
evidence at his command, could be silenced, her labor 
of years was ruined. So long after her husband had 
gone off to his bed to sleep soundly, heavily, after the 
manner of men, Kate had lain awake in hers after the 
manner of women, resolving to risk all, even to a certain 
extent honesty, in order to silence this man, this adven- 
turer; who no doubt was not one whit better than her 
husband. 

And now? As her mind flashed back over that inter- 
view the one thing that stood out above all others was 
the bearing, the deference of the man as he had stooped 
to kiss her hand. For the life of her, she — who pro- 
tested even to herself that such things had no part in her 
life — could not help a joy in the remembrance; a quick 
recognition that here was a man who could put romance 
into a woman’s life. The thought was one, however, 
from which to escape by the first distraction at hand. 
This happened to be the cockatoo, which, after a bath 
and plentiful food, looked a different bird on its new 
perch. 

“ Pretty, pretty poll,” she said hastily, with tentative 
white finger tickling its crest. The bird, in high good 
humor, bent its head sideways and chuckled inarticu- 
lately; yet to an accustomed ear the sound held the 
cadence of the Great Cry, and the tailor, who had heard 
it given wrathfully, looked up from his work. 

“ Oh, Miffis Erlton! what a boo’ful new polly,” came 
a silvery lisp. She turned with a radiant smile to greet 
her next door neighbor’s little boy, a child of about 
three years old, who, pathetically enough, was a great 
solace to her child-bereft life. 

“ Yes, Sonny, isn’t it lovely? ” she said, her slim white 
hand going out to bring the child closer; “ and it screams 
splendidly. Would you like to hear it scream? ” 

Sonny, clinging tightly to her fingers, looked doubt- 
ful. “ Wait till muvver comth, muvver’s cornin’ to zoo 
esectly. Sonny’s always flightened wizout hith muvver.” 


HOME, SWEET HOME! 


25 


At which piece of diplomacy, Kate, feeling light- 
hearted, caught the little white-clad golden-curled figure 
in her arms and ran out with it into the garden, smother- 
ing the laughing face with kisses as she ran. 

“ Sonny’s a little goose to be ‘ flightened,’ ” came her 
glad voice between the laughs and the kisses. “ He 
ought never to be ‘ flightened ’ at all, because no one in 
all the wide, wide world would ever hurt a good little 
childie like Sonnykins — No one! No one! No one! ” 

She had sat the little fellow down among the flowers 
by this time, being, in good sooth, breathless with his 
weight; and now, continuing the game, chased him with 
pretense booings of “No one! No one!” about the 
pansy bed, and so round the sweet peas; until in 
delicious terror he shrieked with delight, and chased her 
back between her chasings. 

It was a pretty sight, indeed, this game between the 
woman and the child. The gardener paused in his water- 
ing, the tailor at his work; and even the native orderly 
going his rounds with the brigade order-book grinned 
broadly, so adding one to the kindly dark faces watch- 
ing the chasing of Sonny. 

“My dear Kate! How can you?” The querulous 
voice broke in on the booings, and made Mrs. Erlton 
pause and think of her loosened hair pins. The speaker 
was a fair, diaphanous woman, the most solid-looking 
part of whose figure, as she dawdled up the path, was 
the large white umbrella she carried. “ Here am I melt- 
ing with the heat! What I shall do next year if George 
is transferred to Delhi, I don’t know. He says we shan’t 
be able to afford the hills. And he has the dogcart at 
some of those eternal court-martials. I wonder why the 
sepoys give so much trouble nowadays. George says 
they’re spoiled. So I came to see if you’ll drive me to the 
band; though I’m not fit to be seen. I was up half the 
night with baby. She is so cross, and George will have 
it she must be ill; as if children didn’t have tempers! 
Lucky you, to have your boy at home. And yet you go 
romping with other people’s. I wouldn’t; but then I 
look horrid when I’m hotF’ 

Kate laughed. She did not, and as she rearranged her 


26 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


hair seemed to have left years of life behind her. “ I can’t 
help it,” she said. “ I feel so ridiculously young myself 
sometimes— as if I hadn’t lived at all, as if nothing be- 
longed to me, and I was really somebody else. As 

if ” She paused abruptly in her confidences, and, 

to change the subject, turned to the group behind Mrs. 
Seymour. An ayah holding a toddler by the hand, a 
tall orderly in uniform carrying a year-old baby in his 
arms; such a languid little mortal as is seldom seen out 
of India, where the swift, sharp fever of the changing 
seasons seems to take the very life from a child in a few 
hours. The fluffy golden head in its limp white sun- 
bonnet rested inert against the orderly’s scarlet coatee, 
the listless little legs drooped helplessly among the bur- 
nished belts and buckles. 

“ Poor little chick ! Let jne have her a bit, orderly,” 
said Kate, laying her hand caressingly on the slack 
dimpled arm ; but baby, with a fretful whine, nestled her 
cheek closer into the scarlet. A shade of satisfaction 
made its owner’s dark face less impassive, and the small, 
sinewy, dark hands held their white burden a shade 
tighter. 

“ She is so cross,” complained the mother. “ It has 
been so all day. She won’t leave the man for an instant. 
He must be sick of her, though he doesn’t show it. And 
she used to go to the ayah; but do you know, Kate, I 
don’t trust the woman a bit. I believe she gives opium 
to the child, so that she may get a little rest.” 

Kate looked at the ayah’s face with a sudden doubt. 
“ I don’t know,” she said slowly. “ I think they believe 
it is a good thing. I remember when Freddy was a 
baby ” 

“ Oh, I don’t believe they ever think that sort of 
thing,” interrupted Mrs. Seymour. “ You never can 
trust the natives, you know. That’s the worst of India. 
Oh! how I wish I was back in dear old England with a 
real nurse who would take the children off my hands.” 

But Kate Erlton was following up her own doubt. 
“ The children trust them ” she began. 

“My dear Kate! you can’t trust children either. 
Look at baby! It gives me the shudders to think of 


THE GEE AT GULF FIXED. 


27 


touching Bij-rao, and see how she cuddles up to. him,’’ 
replied Mrs. Seymour, as she dawdled on to the houge; 
then, seeing the bed of heartsease, paused to go into 
raptures over them. They were like English ones, she 
said. 

The puzzled look left Kate’s face. “ I sent some home 
last mail,” she replied in a sort of hushed voice, “ just to 
show them that we were not cut off from everything we 
care for; not everything.” 

So, as if by one accord, these two Englishwomen 
raised their eyes from the pansy bed, and passing by the 
flowering shrubs, the encircling tamarind trees framing 
the cozy, home-like house, rested them on the redden- 
ing gold of the western sky. Its glow lay on their faces, 
making them radiant. 

But baby’s heavy lids had fallen at last over her heavy 
eyes as she lay in the orderly’s arms, and he glanced at 
the ayah with a certain pride in his superior skill as a 
nurse. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE GREAT GULF FIXED. 

It was a quaint house in the oldest quarter of the city 
of Lucknow, where odd little groves linger between the 
alleys, so that men pass, at a step, from evil-smelling 
lanes to cool, scented retreats, dark with orange and 
mango trees ; where birds flutter, and squirrels loll 
yawning through the summer days, as if the great town 
were miles away. 

It was in the furthest corner of such a flowerless, shady 
garden that the house reared its lessening stories and 
projecting eaves above its neighbors. The upper half 
of it was not unlike an Italian villa in its airiness, its 
balustraded roof, its green jalousies; but the lower por- 
tion was unmistakably Indian. It was a perfect rabbit 
warren of dark cells, crushed in on each other cause- 
lessly; the very staircase, though but two feet wide, hav- 


28 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


ing to fold itself away circumspectly so as to find space 
to creep upward. 

But no one lived below, and the dark twists and turns 
of the brick ladder mattered little to Zora bibi, who lived 
in the pleasant pavilions above; for she had scarcely 
ever left them since the day, nearly eight years past, 
when James Greyman had installed her there with all 
the honor possible to the situation. Which was, briefly, 
that he had bought the slip of a girl from a house of ill- 
fame, as he would have bought a horse, or a flower-pot, 
or anything else which he thought would make life 
pleasanter to him. He had paid a long price for her, not 
only because she was beautiful, but because he pitied the 
delicate-looking child — for she was little more — ^just 
about to enter a profession to which she was evidently a 
recruit kidnaped in early infancy; as so many are in 
India. Not that his pity would have led him to buy her 
if she had been ugly, or even dark; for the creamy ivory 
tint of her skin satisfied his fastidiousness quite as much 
as did the hint of a soul in her dark, dreamy eyes. 
Romance had perhaps had more to do with his purchase 
than passion; restless, reckless determination to show 
himself that he had no regrets for the society which had 
dispensed with his, had had more than either. For he 
had begun to rent the pleasant pavilions after a few 
years of adventurous roving had emphasized the gulf 
fixed between him and his previous life, and forced his 
pride into leading his present one as happily as he could. 

As for the girl, those eight years of pure passion on 
the housetops had been a dream of absolute content. 
It w^as so even now, when she lay dying, as so many 
secluded women do, of a slow decline. To have flowers 
and fruit brought to her, to find no change in his tender- 
ness because she was too languid to amuse him, to have 
him wait upon her and kiss away her protests; all this 
n^ade her soft warm eyes softer, warmer. It was so 
unlike anything she had ever heard or dreamed of; it 
made her blind to the truth, that she was dying. How 
could this be so when there was no hint of change, when 
bre still gave her all she cared for? She did not, to be 


THE^GREAT GULF FIXED, 


29 


sure, play tricks with him like a kitten, as she used to; 
but that was because she was growing old — nearly one 
and twenty! 

“ She is worse to-day. I deem her close to freedom, 
Soma, so 1 have warned the death-tender,” said a tall 
woman, as she straightened the long column of her 
throat to the burden of a brass water-pot, new-poised 
on her head, and stepped down from the low parapet of 
the well which stood in one corner of the shady grove. 
Sometimes its creaking Persian wheel moaned over the 
task of sending runnels of water to the thirsty trees ; but 
to-day it was silent, save for an intermittent protest when 
the man — who was lazily leaning his back against the 
yoke — put out his strength so as to empty an extra 
water can or two into the trough for the woman’s use. 
He was in the undress uniform of a sepoy, and as he 
also straightened himself to face the speaker the ex- 
traordinary likeness between them in face and figure 
stamped them as twins. It would have been difficult 
to give the palm to either for superior height or beauty; 
and in their perfection of form they might have stood as 
models of the mythical race-founders whose names they 
bore. For Tara Devi and Soma Chund were Rajpoots 
of the single Lunar or Yadubansi tribe. She was 
dressed in an endless scarf of crimson wool, which with 
its border of white and yellow embroidery hung about 
her in admirable folds. The gleam of the water-pot 
matched the dead gold circlets on the brown wrists and 
ankles; for Tara wore her savings thus, though she had 
no right to do so, being a widow. But she had been 
eight years in James Greyman’s service; more than eight 
bound to him by the strangest of ties. He had been the 
means of saving her from her husband’s funeral pyre; 
in other words of preventing her from being a saint, of 
making her outcaste utterly. Since none, not even 
other widows, would eat or drink with a woman rejected 
by the very gods on the threshold of Paradise. Such a 
mental position is well-nigh incomprehensible to 
western minds. It was confusing even to Tara herself; 


30 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

and the mingling of conscious dignity and conscious 
degradation, gratitude, resentment, attraction, repulsion, 
made her a puzzle even to herself at times. 

‘'The master will grieve,” replied Soma; his voice 
was far softer than his sister’s had been, but it had the 
effect of hardening hers still more. 

“What then?” she asked; “man’s sorrow for a 
woman passes; or even if it pass not, bears no fruit here, 
or hereafter. But I, as thou knozvest, Soma, would have 
burned with my love. But for thee, as thou knowest^ I 
would have been suttee {lit. virtuous). But for thee I 
should have found, ay! and given salvation.” 

She passed on with a sweep of full drapery, bearing 
her water-pot as a queen might her crown, leaving 
Soma’s handsome face full of conscious-stricken amaze. 
His sister — from whom, despite her degradation, he had 
not been able to dissociate himself utterly — had never 
before rounded on him for his share in her misfortune; 
but in his heart of hearts he had admitted his responsi- 
bility at one moment, scorned it the next. True, he 
had told his young Lieutenant that his brother-in-law 
was going to be burned, as an excuse for not accom- 
panying him after black-buck one morning; but who 
would have dreamed that this commonplace remark 
would rouse the Huzoor’s curiosity to see the obsequies 
of a high-caste Rajpoot, and so lead, incidentally, to 
a file of policemen and the neighboring magistrate drag- 
ging the sixteen-year old widow from the very flames? — 
when she was drugged, too, and quite happy — when the 
wrench was over, even for him, and she, to all intents, 
was a saint scattering salvation on seven generations of 
inconstant males! Much as he loved Tara, the little 
twin sister who, so the village gossips loved to tell, had 
left the Darkness for the Light of Life still clasping his 
hand, how could he have done her such an injury? As 
a Rajpoot how could he have brought such a scandalous 
dishonor on any family? 

But being also a soldier, as his fathers had been before 
him, and so leavened unconsciously by much contact 
with Europeans, he could not help admiring Tara’s pluck 
in refusing to accept the life of a dog, which was all that 


THE GREAT GULF FIXED. 


31 

was left to her among her own people. And he had been 
grateful to the Huzoor, as she was, for giving her good 
service where he could see her; though he would not 
for worlds have touched the hand which had lain in his 
from the beginning of all things. It was unclean now. 

Still he could not forget the gossip’s story any more 
than he could forget that James Grey man had been his 
Lieutenant, and that together they had shot over half 
liurreeana. So when he passed through Lucknow on 
his way to spend his leave in his wife’s village, he always 
gave a day or two of it to the quaint garden-house. 

And now Tara had definitely accused him of ruining 
her life! Anger, born of a vague remorse, filled him as 
he watched her disappear up the plinth. If it was any- 
body’s fault it was the Huzoor’s; or rather of the Sirkar 
itself who, by high-handed interference with venerable 
customs, made it possible for a poor man, by a mere slip 
of the tongue, to injure one bound to him by the closest 
of ties. 

“ It will leave us naught to ourselves soon,” he mut- 
tered sulkily as he went out to the doorstep to finish 
polishing the master’s sword; that being a recognized 
office during these occasional visits, which, as it occurred 
to him in his discontent, would be still more occasional 
if among other things the Sirkar, now that Oude was 
was annexed, took away the extra leave due to foreign 
service. They had said so in the regiment; and though 
he was too tough to feel pin-pricks in advance, he had 
sneered with others in the current jest that the maps 
were tinted red — i. e., shown to be British territory — by 
savings stolen from the sepoy’s pocket. 

It was very quiet on the paved slope leading up from 
the alley to the carved door beyond the gutter. The 
lane was too narrow for wheeled traffic, the evening not 
sufficiently advanced for the neighbors to gather in it 
for gossip. But every now and again a veiled figure 
would sidle along the further wall, passing good-looking 
Soma with a flurried shuffle. Whereat, though he knew 
these ghostly figures to be old women on their way to 
market, he cocked his turban more awry, and curled his 
mustachios nearer his eyes; from no set purpose of 


32 


ON- THE PACE OF THE WATERS. 


playing the gay Lothario, but for the honor of the regi- 
ment, and because War and Women go together. East 
and West. 

After a time, however, the workmen began to dawdle 
past from their work, and some of them, remembering 
Soma, paused to ask him the latest news; a stranger in 
a native city being equivalent to an evening paper. 
And, of course, there were questions as to what the regi- 
ment thought of this and that. But Soma’s replies were 
curt. He never relished being lumped in as a simple 
Rajpoot with the rest of the Rajpoots, for he was inordi- 
nately proud of his tribe. That was one reason why he 
stood aloof, as he did, from much that went on among 
his comrades. He drilled, it is true, between two of 
them who were entered as he was — that is to say, as a 
Rajpoot — on the roster. But the three were in reality 
as wide apart as the Sun, the Moon, and the Fire from 
which they respectively claimed descent. They would 
not have intermarried into each other’s families for all 
the world and its wealth. A causeless differentiation 
which makes, and must make, a people who cling to it 
incomprehensible to a race which boasts as a check to 
pride or an encouragement to humility that all men are 
born of Adam, and which seeks no hall-mark for its 
descendants save the stamp of the almighty dollar. 

Sorna, therefore, polishing his master’s sword sulkily, 
grew irritable also ; especially when the frequenters of the 
opium and hemp shops began, with wavering steps and 
lack-luster eyes, to loaf homeward for the evening meal 
which would give them strength for another dose. 
There were many such habitual drug-takers in the quar- 
ter; for it was largely inhabited by poor claimants to 
nobility who, having nothing to do, had time for dreams. 
That was why people from other quarters flocked to this 
one at sundown for gossip; since it is to be had at its 
best from the opium-eater, whose imagination is stimu- 
lated, his reason dulled, beyond the power of discrimi- 
nating even his own truth or falsehood. One of these, a 
haggard, sallow fellow in torn muslin and ragged em- 
with a heavy-lidded leer beside Soma. 

So, brother, back again! ” he said with the maudlin 


THE GREAT GULF FIXED. 33 

gravity of a hemp-smoker; “and thou lookest fat. The 
bone dust must agree with thee.” 

It was as if a bomb had fallen. The Hindoo bystanders, 
recognizing the rumor that ground bones were mixed 
with commissariat flour, drew back from the Rajpoot 
instinctively ; the Mohammedans smiled on the sly. 
Soma himself had in a moment one sinewy hand on the 
half-drunk creature’s throat, the other brandishing the 
fresh-polished sword. 

“ Bone dust thyself, and pigs meat too, foul-mouthed 
slayer of sacred kine!” he gasped, carrying the war 
into the enemy’s countrv. “Thou beast! Unsay the 
lie!” ^ . 

His indignation, showing that he appreciated the 
credence some might be disposed to give to the accusa- 
tion, only made the Hindoos look at each other. The 
Mohammedans, however, dragged him from the sway- 
ing figure of the accuser, who, after all, was one of 
themselves. 

“ Heed him not! ” they chorused appeasingly. “ ’Tis 
drug-shop talk, and every sane man knows that for 
dreams. Lo! his sense is clean gone as horns from a 
donkey! Sure, thy mother eat chillies in her time for 
thou to be so hot-blooded. It is not morning, brother, 
because a hen crows, and a snake is but a snake, and 
goes crooked even to his own home ! ” 

These hoarded saws, with physical force superadded, 
left Soma reduced to glaring, and renewed claims for a 
retraction of the insult. 

The hemp-smoker looked at him mournfully. 
“ Wouldst have me deny God’s truth?” he hiccuped. 
“ Lo ! I say not thou didst eat it. Thou sayst not, and 
who am I to decide between a man and his stomach, even 
though he looks fat? Yet this all know, that as a bird 
fattens his tail shrinks, and honor is nowhere nowadays. 
But this I say for certain. Let him eat who will, there 
is bone dust in the flour — there is bone dust in the 
flour ” 

He lurched from a supporter’s hold and drifted down 
the lane, half-chanting the words. 

Soma glared, now, at those doubtful faces which re- 


34 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

mained. “ 'Tis a lie, brothers! But there, ’tis no use 
wearing the red coat nowadays when all scoff at it. And 
why not? when the Sirkar itself mocks our rights. I 
tell thee at the father-in-law’s village, but now, a man 
who titled me sahib last year puffed his smoke in my 
face this. And wherefore not? May not every scoun- 
drel nowadays drag us to court and set us a-bribing 
underlings as the common herd have to do? We, sol- 
diers of Oude, who had a Resident of our own always, 
and ” 

“ Nothing lasts for always, save God,” said a long- 
bearded bystander, interrupting Soma’s parrot roll of 
military grievances, ‘‘ as the Moulvie said last night at 
our mosque, it is well he remains ever the same, giving 
the same plain orders once and for all. So none of the 
faithful can mistake. God is Might and Right. All the 
rest is change.” 

‘'Wah! wah!” murmured some respectfully; but the 
Rajpoot’s scowl lost its fierceness in supercilious indif- 
ference. 

“ That may suit the Moulvie. It may suit thee and 
thine, syyed-jee” he replied, with a shrug of the shoul- 
ders. “ It suits not me nor mine, being of a different 
race. We are Rajpoots, and there is no change pos- 
sible to that. We are ever the same.” 

The pride in his voice and manner reflected but faintly 
the inconceivable pride in his heart. Yet he was on the 
alert, salaaming cheerfully, as James Greyman came 
riding with a clatter down the alley, and without drawing 
bridle, passed through the low gateway into the dark 
garden heavy with the perfume of orange-blossom. 
His arrival ended the incident, for Soma followed him 
quickly, and in obedience to his curt order to see the 
groom rub down the horse while it waited, as it had 
been a breather round the race course, walked off with 
it toward the well. It was such an opportunity for 
ordering other men about as natives dearly love ; so that 
the more autocratic a master is, the better pleased they 
are to gain dignity by serving him. 

James Greyman, meanwhile, had paused on the plinth 


THE GEE AT GULF FIXED. 


35 


to give a low whistle and look upward to the terraced 
roof. And as he did so his face was full of weariness, 
and yet of impatience. He had been telling himself that 
he was a fool ever since he had left Kate Erlton’s draw- 
ing room half an hour before, and even his mad gallop 
round the steeple-chase course had not effaced the 
curious sense of compulsion which had made him 
promise to let her husband go scot-free. Even now, 
when he waited with that dread at his heart, which of 
late had been growing stronger day by day, for the 
answer which Zora loved to make to his signal, his fear 
lest the Great Silence had fallen between them was lost 
in the recollection that, if it were so, his freedom had 
come too late. He hated himself for thus bracketing 
death and freedom together, but for all that he would 
not blind himself to its truth. Now that his profession 
had gone with the King’s exile, Zora was, indeed, the 
only tie to a life which had grown distasteful to him, 
and when the Great Silence came, as come it must, he 
had made up his mind to leave James Greyman behind, 
and go home to England. He was nearing forty, and 
though the spirit of reckless adventure was fading, the 
ambitions of his youth seemed to be returning; as they 
so often do when the burden and heat of passion passes. 
He was tired of perpetual sunshine; the thought of the 
cold mists on the hilltops, the wild storms on the west 
coast, haunted him. He wanted to see them again. 
Above all, he wanted to hear himself called by his own 
familiar name, not by the one he had assumed. It had 
seemed brutal to dream ,of all this sometimes, while 
little Zora still lay in his arms smiling contentedly; but 
it was inevitable. And so, while he waited, watching 
with the dread growing at his heart for the flutter of the 
tinsel veil, the half-heard whisper “ Kush amud-eed ” 
(welcome), it was inevitable also that the remembrance 
of his promise to Kate Erlton should invade, and as it 
were desecrate, his real regret for the silence that seemed 
to grow deeper every second. It had come too late — 
too late! There could be no solace in freedom now. 
That other silence in regard to Major Erlton’s misdeeds 


S6 ON THE FACE OF THE WA2FRS, 

meant the loss of every penny he had scraped together 
for England. He might have to sell up almost every- 
thing he possessed in order to pay his bets honorably; 
and that he must do, or he gave away his only hope of 
recouping his bad luck. Why had he promised? Why 
had he given up a certainty for that vague chance of 
which he had spoken, he scarcely knew why, to these 
cold blue northern eyes with the glint of steel. The 
remembrance brought a passionate anger at himself. 
Was there anything in the world worth thinking of now, ' 
with that silence new-fallen upon him, except the soft 
warm eyes which were perhaps closed forever? So, 
with a quick step, he passed up the stairs and gave his 
signal knock at the door which led on to the terraced 
roof. 

Tara, opening it, answered his look with finger to her 
lip, and a warning glance to the low string-bed set close 
to the arches of the summer-house so as to catch the 
soft-scented breeze. He stepped over to it lightly and 
looked down on the sleeper; but the relief passed from 
his face at what he saw there. It could only be a 
question of hours now. 

“Why didst not send before?” he asked in a low 
voice. “ I bid thee send if she were worse and she 
needed me.” Once more the anger against that other 
woman came uppermost. What was she to him that she 
should filch even half an hour from this one who loved 
him? He might so easily have come earlier; and then 
the promise would not have been made. Was he utterly 
heartless, that this thought would come again and 
again ? 

“ She slept,” replied Tara coldly. “ And sleep needs 
naught. Not even Love’s kisses. It is nigh the end 
though, master, as thou seest; so I have warned mother 
Jewuni, the death tender.” She had spoken so far as if 
she desired to make him wince; now the pain on his 
face made her add hurriedly: “She hath not suffered, 
Huzoor, she hath not complained. Had it been so I 
would have sent. But sleep is rest.” 

She passed on to a lower roof softening her echoing 
steps with a quaint crooning lullaby; 


THE GEE AT GULF FIXED. 


37 


‘ ‘ My breast is rest 
And rest is Death. 

Ye who have breath 
Say which is best ? 

Death’s Sleep is rest ! ” 

Was it so? As he stood, still looking down on the 
sleeper, something in the lack of comfort, of all the re- 
finements and luxuries which seem to belong by right 
to the sickness of dear ones in the West, smote him 
suddenly with a sense of deprivation, of division. And 
though he told himself that Death came in far more 
friendly fashion out there in the sunlight, where you 
could hear the birds, watch the squirrels, and see the 
children’s kites go sailing overhead in the blue sky; still 
the bareness of it seemed somehow to reveal the great 
gulf between his complexity, his endless needs and 
desires, and the simplicity of that human creature drift- 
ing to death, almost as the animals drift, without com- 
plaint, without fears, or hopes. It seemed so pitiful. 
The slender figure, still gay in tinsel and bright draper- 
ies, all cuddled up on the quilt, its oval face resting hardly 
on the thin arm where the bracelets hung so loosely, had 
an uncared-for look. It seemed alone, apart; as far from 
Death in its nearness to Life, as it was from Life in its 
closeness to Death. In swift pity he stooped to risk an 
awakening by gathering it into his warm friendly arms. 
It would at least feel the beating of another human heart 
when it lay there. It would at least be more comfort- 
able than on the bare, hard, pillowless bed. 

But he paused. How could he judge? How dare he 
judge even for that wasted body, which, despite its soft- 
ness, had never known half the luxuries his claimed? 
So he, left her lying as he had often seen her sleep, all 
curled up on herself like a tired squirrel, and passing to 
tlie parapet leaned over it looking moodily down into 
the darkening orange trees. Their heavy perfume floated 
upward, reminding him of many another night in spring- 
time spent with Zora upon this terraced roof. 

And suddenly his hand fell in a gesture of sheer anger. 

Before God ! it had been unfair ; this idyl on the house- 
tops. The world had held no more for her save her pas- 


38 


ON 2'HE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


sion for him, pure in Jts very perfection. His for her 
had been but a small part of his life. It never was more 
than that to a man, in reality, and so this sort of thing 
must always be unfair. That she had been content made 
it worse, not better. Poor little soul ! drifting away from 
the glow and the glamour. 

A resentment for her, more than for himself, made him 
go to where Tara sat gossiping with her fellow-servant 
on the other roof and bid them wait downstairs. If the 
silence were indeed about to fall, if the glow and the 
glamour were going, then she and he might at least be 
alone once more beneath the coming stars; alone in the 
soft-scented darkness which had so often seemed to clasp 
them closer to each other as they sat in it like a couple of 
children whispering over a secret. 

Closer ! As he leaned over the parapet his keen eyes 
stared down into the half-seen city spreading below him. 
Wide, tree-set, full of faint sounds of life; the wreaths of 
smoke from thousands of hearths rising to obscure it 
from his view. Obscuring it hopelessly with their tale 
of a life utterly apart from any he could lead. Even 
there on the housetop he had only pretended to lead it. 
It was not she, drifting to death so contentedly, who was 
alone! It was he. Yet some men he had known had 
seemed able to combine the two lives. They had been 
content to think half-caste thoughts, to rear up a tribe 
of half-caste children; while he? How many years was 
it since he had seen Zora weeping over a still little mor- 
sel of humanity, his child and hers, that lay in her 
tinseled veil? She .had wept, mostly because she was 
afraid he might be angry because his son had never 
drawn breath; and he had comforted her. He had 
never told her of the relief it was to him, of the vague 
repulsion which the thought of a child had always 
brought with it. One could not help these things; and, 
after all, she had only cared because she was afraid he 
cared. She did not crave for motherhood either. It was 
the glow and glamour that had been the bond between 
them; nothing else. And, thank Heaven! she had never 
tired of it, had never seen him tire of it— for Death would 
come before that now. 


THE GEE AT GULF FIXED. 


39 


A chiming clash of silver made him turn quickly. She 
had awakened, and seeing him by the parapet, had set 
her small feet to the ground, and now stood trying to 
steady herself by her thin, wide-spread arms. 

“ Zora! wait! I am coming,’’ he cried, starting forward. 
Then he paused, speech and action arrested by some- 
thing in her look, her gesture. 

“ Let me come,” she murmured, her breath gone with 
the effort. “ I can come. I must be able to come. My 
lord is so near — so near.” 

A fierce pity made him stand still. “ Surely thou canst 
come,” he answered. “ I will stay here.” 

As she stood, with parted lips, waiting for a glint of 
strength ere she tried to walk, her swaying figure, the 
brilliance of her eyes, the heaving of her delicate throat, 
cut him to the very heart for her sake more than for his 
own. Then the jingle of her silver anklets rose again in 
irregular cadence, to cease at the next pillar where she 
paused, steadying herself against the cold stone to regain 
her breath. 

“ Surely, I can come; and he so near,” she murmured 
wistfully, half to herself. 

“ Thou art in too great a hurry, sweetheart. There is 
plenty of time. The stars are barely lit, and star-time is 
ever our time.” 

He set his teeth over the words; but the glow and the 
glamour should not fail her yet. He would take her 
back with him while he could to the past which had been 
so full of it. 

“ Come slower, my bird, I am waiting,” he said again 
as the jingling cadence ceased once more. 

“ It is so strange,” she gasped; “ I feel so strange.” 
And even in the dim light he could see a vague terror, 
a pitiful amaze in her face. That must not be. That 
must be stopped. “ And it is strange,” he answered 
quickly. “ Strange, indeed, for me to wait like a king, 
when thou art my queen I ” 

A faint smile drove the wonder away, a faint laugh 
mingled with the chiming and clashing. She was like 
a wounded bird, he thought, as he watched her; a 
wounded bird fluttering to find shelter from death. 


40 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


“ Take care! Take care of the step! ’’ he cried, as a 
stumble made him start forward; but when she recovered 
herself blindly he stood still once more, waiting. Let 
her come if she could. Let her keep the glamour. 

Keep it! She had done more than that. She had 
given it back to him at its fullest, as, close at hand he saw 
her radiant face, and his outstretched hands met hers 
warm and clasping. The touch of them made him for- 
get all else ; he drew her close to him passionately. She 
gave a smiling sob of sheer content, raising her face to 
meet his kisses. 

‘‘ I have come,” she whispered. “ I have come to my 
king.” Her voice ended like a sigh. Then there was 
silence, a fainter sigh, then silence again. 

” Zora! ” he called with a sudden dread at his heart. 
“ What is it? Zora! Zora! ’ 

Half an hour afterward, Tara Devi, obeying her 
master’s summons, found him standing beside the bed, 
which he had dragged out under the stars, and flung up 
her arms to give the wail for what she saw there. 

“Hush!” he said sternly, clutching at her shoulder. 
“ I will not have her disturbed.” 

Tara looked at him wonderingly. “ There is no fear 
of that,” she replied clearly, loudly, “ none shall disturb 
Zora again. She hath found that freedom in the future. 
For the rest of us, God knows! The times are strange. 
So let her have her right of wailing, master. She will 
feel silent in the grave without the voices of her race.” 

He drew his hand away sharply; even in death a great 
gulf lay between him and the woman he had loved. 

So the death wail rang out clamorously through the 
soft dark air. 


CHAPTER IV. 

TAPE AND SEALING-WAX. 

“ I can’t think,” said a good-looking middle-aged man 
as he petulantly pushed aside a pile of official papers, 
“ where Dashe picks these things up. I never come 
across them. And it is not as if he were in a big station 


TAPE AND SEALING- IV AX. 


41 


or — or in the swim in any way.” He spoke fretfully, as 
one might who, having done his best, has failed. And 
he had grounds for this feeling, since the fact that the 
diffident district-officer named Dashe was not in the 
swim, must clearly have been due to his official supe- 
riors; the speaker being one of them. 

Fortunately, however, for England, these diffident sons 
of hers cannot always hide their lights under bushels. 
As the biographies of many Indian statesmen show, 
•some outsider notices a gleam of common sense amid the 
gloom, and steers his course by it. Now Mr. Dashe’s 
intimate knowledge of a certain jungle tract in this dis- 
trict had resulted in a certain military magnate bagging 
three tigers. From this to a reliance on his political per- 
ceptions is not so great a jump as might appear; since 
a man acquainted with the haunt of every wild beast in 
his jurisdiction may be credited with knowledge of other 
dangerous inhabitants. So much so that the military 
magnate, being impressed, by some casual remarks, had 
asked Mr. Dashe to put down his views on paper, and had 
passed them on to a great political light. 

It was he who sat at the table looking at a broadsheet 
printed in the native character, as if it were a personal 
affront. The military magnate, who had come over to 
discuss the question, was lounging in an easy-chair with 
a cheroot. They were both excellent specimens of 
Englishmen. The civilian a trifle bald, the soldier 
a trifle gray; but one glance was sufficient to judge them 
neither knaves nor fools. 

“ That’s the proclamation you’re at now, isn’t it? ” 
asked the military magnate, looking up, ‘‘ I’m afraid I 
could only make out a word here and there. That’s the 
worst of Dashe. He’s so deuced clever at the vernacu- 
lars himself that he imagines other people ” 

The political, who had earned his first elevation from 
the common herd to the Secretariat by a nice taste in 
Persian couplets suitable for durbar speeches, smiled 
compassionately. 

“My dear sir! This is not even shikusf [broken 
character]. It is lithographed, and plain sailing to any- 
one not a fool — I mean to anyone on the civil side, of 


42 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


course — you soldiers have not to learn the language. 
But I have a translation here. As this farrago of Dashe’s 
must go to Calcutta in due course, I had one made for 
the Governor General's use.” 

He handed a paper across the table, and then turned 
to the next paragraph of the jeremiad. 

The military magnate laid down his cigar, took up the 
document and glanced at it apprehensively, resumed his 
cigar, and settled himself in his chair. It was a very 
comfortable one and matched the office-room, which, 
being in the political light's private house, was und^r the 
supervision of his wife, who was a notable woman. Her 
portrait stood in the place of honor on the mantelpiece 
and it was flanked by texts; one inculcating the virtue of 
doing as you would be done by, the other the duty of 
doing good without ceasing. Both rather dangerous 
maxims when you have to deal with a different personal 
and ethical standard of happiness and righteous- 
ness. There was also a semicircle of children's photo- 
graphs — of the kind known' as positives — on the table 
round the official ink-pot. When the sun shone on their 
glasses, as it did now through a western window, they 
dazzled the eyes. Maybe it was their hypnotizing in- 
fluence which inclined the father of the family toward 
treating every problem which came to that office-table 
as if the first desideratum was their welfare, their appro- 
bation; not, of course, as his children, but as the repre- 
sentative Englishmen and women of the future. Yet he 
was filled with earnest desires to do his duty by those 
over whom he had been set to rule, and as he read, his 
sense of responsibility was simply portentous, and his 
pen, scratching fluently in comments over the half mar- 
.gin, was full of wisdom. This sound was the only one 
in the room save, occasionally, voices raised eagerly in 
the rehearsal going on in the drawing room next door. 
It was a tragedy in aid of an orphan asylum in England 
which the notable wife was getting up; and once her 
voice could be heard distinctly, saying to her daughter, 
“ Oh, Elsie, I'm sure you could die better than that! ” 

Meanwhile the military magnate was reading: 

“I, servant of God, the all-powerful, and of the 


TAFjE Al\rD SEALING-IVAX. 


43 


prophet Mohammed — to whom be all praise. I, Sayyed 
Ahmed-Oolah, the dust of the feet of the descendants of 
Hiizrut Ameer-Oolah-Moomereen-Ali-Moortuza, the HolyX 
He shifted uneasily, looked across the table, appeared 
discouraged by that even scratching, and went on : 

“I, Syyed Ahmed, after preferring my salaams and the 
blessings of Holy War, to all believers of the sect of 
Sheeahs or the sect of Sunnees alike, and also to all those 
having respectful regards to the P'aith, declare that I, 
the least of servants in the company of those waiting on 
the Prophet, did by the order of God receive a Sword of 
Honor, on condition that I should proclaim boldly to 
all the duty of combining to drive out Infidels. In this, 
therefore, is their great Reward; as is written in the Word 
of God, since his Gracious Power is mighty for success. 
Yea! and if any fail, will they not be rid of all the ends 
of this evil world, and attain the Joys and Glories of 
Martyrdom? So be it. A sign is ever sufficient to the 
intelligent, and the Duty of a servant is simply to point 
the way.” 

When he had finished he laid the document down on 
the table, and for a minute or so continued to puff at his 
cigar. Then he broke silence with that curioirs con- 
straint in his tone which most men assume when reli- 
gious topics crop lip in general conversation. I wonder 
if this — this paper is to be considered the sign, or ” — he 
hesitated for a moment, then the cadence of the procla- 
mation being suggestive, he finished his sentence to 
match — ‘‘ or look we for another? ” 

“Another!” retorted his companion irritably. “Ac- 
cording to Dashe the whole of India is one vast sign-post! 
He seems to think we in authority are blind to this. On 
the contrary, there is scarcely one point he mentions 
which is not, I say this confidentially of course, under 
inquiry. I have the files in my confidential box here and 
can show them to you now. No! by the way, the head 
clerk has the key — that proclamation had to be trans- 
lated, of course. But, naturally, we don’t proclaim this 
on the housetops. We might hurt people’s feelings, or 
give rise to unfounded hopes. As for these bazaar 
rumors Dashe retails with such zest, I confess I think 


44 


ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERC. 


it undignified for a district-officer to give any heed to 
them. They are inevitable with an ignorant population, 
and we, having the testimony of a good conscience,” — he 
glanced almost unconsciously at the mantelpiece, — 
“ should disregard these ridiculous lies. Of course every- 
one — everyone in the swim, that is — ^admits that the 
native army is most unsettled. And as Sir Charles 
Napier declared, mutiny is the most serious danger 
in the future; in fact, if the first symptoms are not 
grappled with, it may shake the very foundations*. 
But we are grappling with it, just as we are grappling, 
quietly, with the general distrust. That was a most 
mischievous paragraph, by the way, in the Chris- 
tian Observer, jubilant over the alarm created by those- 
first widow re-marriages the other day. So was that; 
in Friend of India, calling attention to the fact that a 
regular prayer was offered up in all the mosques for 
the Restoration of the Royal Family. We don’t want 
these things noticed. We want to create a feeling of 
security by ignoring them. That is our policy. Then 
as for Dashe’s political news, it is all stale! That story, 
for instance, of the Embassy from Persia, and of the old 
King of Delhi having turned a Sheeah ” 

“ That has something to do with saying Amen, hasn’t 
it?” interrupted the military magnate, with the air of 
one determined to get at the bottom of things at all costs 
to himself. 

The political light smiled in superior fashion. “ Par- 
tially; but politically — as a gauge, I mean, to probable 
antagonism — Sheeahs and Sunnees are as wide apart as 
Protestants and Papists. The fact that the Royal 
Family of Oude are Sheeahs, and the Delhi one Sunnees, 
is our safeguard. Of course the old King’s favorite wife, 
Zeenut Maihl, is an Oude woman, but I don’t credit the 
rumors. I had it carefully inquired into, however, by 
a man who has special opportunities for that sort of work. 
A very intelligent fellow, Greyman by name. He has a 
black wife or — or something of that sort, which of 
course helps him to understand the natives better than 
most of us who — er — who don’t — you understand ” 


TAPE AND SEALING-WAX. 


45 


The military magnate, having a sense of humor, 
smiled to himself. “ Perfectly,” he replied, “ and Pm in- 
clined to think that perhaps there is something to be said 
for a greater laxity.” In his turn he glanced at the man- 
telpiece, and paused before that immaculate presence. 
“ The proclamation, however,” he went on hurriedly, 
“ appears to me a bit dangerous. Holy War is awkward, 
and a religious fanatic is a tough subject even to the regu- 
lars.” He had seen a rush of Ghazees once and the 
memory lingered. 

“ Undoubtedly. And as we have pointed out again 
and again to your Department, here and > at home, the 
British garrisons are too scattered. These large acces- 
sions of territory have put them out of touch with each 
other. But that again is being grappled with. In fact, 
personally, I believe we are getting on as well as can be 
expected.” He glanced here at the semicircle of chil- 
dren as if the phrase were suggestive. “We are doing 
our best for India and the Indians. Now here, in Oude, 
things are wonderfully ship-shape already. Despite 
Jackson and Gubbins’ tiffs over trifles they are both 
splendid workers, and Lucknow was never so well gov- 
erned as it is to-day.” 

“ But about the proclamation,” persisted his hearer. 
“ Couldn’t you get some more information about it? 
That Greyman, for instance.” 

“ I’m afraid not. He refused some other work I 
offered him not long ago. Said he was going home for 
good. I sometimes wish I could. It is a thankless task 
slaving out here and being misunderstood, even at home. 
Being told in so many words that the very system under 
which we were recruited has failed. Poor old Hailey- 
bury! I only hope competition will do as well, but I doubt 
it; these new fellows can never have the old esprit de 
corps', won’t come from the same class! One of the 
Rajah’s people was questioning me about it only this 
morning — they read the English newspapers, of course. 
‘ So we are not to have sahibs to rule over us,’ he said, 
looking black as thunder. ' Any kranPs (lit. low-caste 
English) son will do, if he has learned enough.’ I tried 


46 


ON THE FACE OF 7'HE WATERS. 


to explain ” Here a red-coated orderly entering 

with a card, he broke of¥ into angry inquiries why he was 
being disturbed contrary to orders. 

‘‘ The sahib bade me bring it,” replied the man, as if 
that were sufficient excuse, and his master, looking at 
the card, tossed it over the table to the soldier, who ex- 
claimed: “ Talk of the devil! He may as well come in, if 
you don’t mind.” 

So James Greyman was ushered in, and remained 
standing between the civilian and the soldier; for it is 
not given to all to have the fine perceptions of the native. 
The orderly had unhesitatingly classed the visitor as a 
“ gentleman to be obeyed ” ; but the Political Depart- 
ment knew him only as a reliable source of information. 

“Well, Greyman! Have you brought any more 
news? ” asked the civilian, in a tone intended to impress 
the Military Department with the fact that here was one 
grapnel out of the many which were being employed 
in bringing truth to the surface and securing safety. But 
the soldier, after one brief look at the newcomer, sat up 
and squared his own shoulders a bit. 

“ That depends, sir,” replied James Greyman quietly, 
“ whether it pays me to bring it or not. I told you last 
month that I could not undertake any more work, be- 
cause I was leaving India. My plans have changed; and 
to be frank, I am rather hard up. If you could give me 
regular employment I should be glad of it.” He spoke 
with the utmost deliberation, but the incisive finality of 
every word, taking his hearers unprepared, gave an im- 
pression of hurry and left the civilian breathless. James 
Greyman, however, having said what he had come to say, 
said no more. During the past week he had had plenty 
of time to make up his mind, or rather to find out that it 
was made up. For he recognized frankly that he was 
acting more on impulse than reason. After he had bur- 
ied poor little Zora away in accordance with the cus- 
toms of her people, and paid his racing bets and general 
liabilities, — to do which he had found it necessary to sell 
most things, including the very horse he had matched 
against Major Erlton’s, — he had suddenly found out, 
rather to his own surprise, that the idea of starting 


TAPE AND SEALING- WAX, 


47 


again on the old lines was utterly distasteful to him. In 
a lesser degree this second loss of his future and severing 
of ties in the past had had the same effect upon him as 
the previous one. It had left him reckless, disposed to 
defy all he had lost, and prove himself superior to ill- 
luck. Then being, by right of his Celtic birth, imagina- 
tive, in a way superstitious, he had again and again found 
himself thrown back, as it were, upon Kate Erlton’s 
appeal for that chance, to bring which the Spirit might 
be, even now, moving on the waters. It was that, that 
only, with its swift touch on his own certainty that a 
storm was brewing, which had made him yield his point; 
which had forced him into yielding by an unreasoning 
assent to her suggestion that it might bring a chance of 
atonement with it. And now, in calm deliberation, he 
confessed that he might find his chance in it also; a better 
chance, maybe, than he would have had in England. His 
only one, at any rate, for some time to come. Those 
gray-blue northern eyes with the glint of steel in them 
had, by a few words, changed the current of his life. The 
truth was unpalatable, but as usual he did not attempt to 
deny it. He simply cast round for the best course in 
which to flow toward that tide in the affairs of men 
which he hoped to take at its flood. Political employ- 
ment — briefly, spy’s work — seemed as good as any for the 
present. 

“ Regular employment,” echoed the civilian, recover- 
ing from his sense of hurry. “ You mean, I presume, 
as a news-writer.” 

“ As a spy, sir,” interrupted James Greyman. 

The political light disregarded the suggestion. ‘‘ Your 
acquirements, of course, would be suitable enough; but 
I fear there are no native courts without one. And the 
situation hardly calls for excess expenditure. But of 
course, any isolated douceur ” 

His hearer smiled. “ Call it payment, sir. But I think 
you must find job-work in secret intelligence rather ex- 
pensive. It produces such a crop of mare’s-nests; at 
least so I have found.” 

The suspicion of equality in the remark made the offi- 
cial mount his high horse, deftly. 


48 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ Really, we have so many reliable sources of informa- 
tion, Mr. Greyman,” he began, laying his hand as if casu- 
ally on the papers before him. The action was followed 
by James Greyman’s keen eyes. 

“ You have the proclamation there, I see,” he said 
cheerfully. “ I thought it could not be much longer 
before the police or someone else became aware of its 
existence. The Moulvie himself was here about a week 
ago.” 

“The Moulvie — what Moulvie?” asked the military 
magnate eagerly. The civilian, however, frowned. If 
confidential work were to be carried out on those lines, 
something, even if it were only ignorance, must be found 
out. 

“ The Moulvie of Fyzabad ” began James Greyman. 

“ And who ? ” 

“ My dear sir,” interrupted the other pettishly. “ We 
really know all about the Moulvie of Fyzabad. His 
name has been on the register of suspects for months.” 
He rose, crossed to a bookshelf, and coming back pro- 
cessionally with two big volumes, began to turn over the 
pages of one. 

“M — Mo — Ah! Ma, no doubt. That is correct, 
though transliteration is really a difficult task — to be con- 
sistent yet intelligible in a foreign language is No. 

It must be under F in the first volume. F; Fy. Just sol 
Here we are. *' Fyzabad, Moulvie of — fanatic, tall, 
medium color, mole on inside of left shoulder.’ This is 
the man, I think? ” 

“ I was not aware of the mole, sir,” replied James Grey- 
man dr>dy, “ but he is a magnificent preacher, a consist- 
ent patriot, a born organizer ; and he is now on his way to 
Delhi.” 

“To Delhi?” echoed the civilian pettishly. “What 
can a man of the stamp you say he is want with Delhi? 
A sham court, a miserable pantaloon of a king, the prey 
of a designing woman who flatters his dotage. I admit 
he is the representative of the Moghul dynasty, but its 
record for the last hundred and fifty years is bad enough 
surely to stamp out sentiment of that sort.” 

Prince Charles Edward was not a very admirable per- 


TAPE AND SEALING-WAX. 


49 


son, nor the record of the Stuarts a very glorious one, 

and yet my grandfather James Greyman pulled 

himself up sharply, and seeing an old prayer-book lying 
on the table, which, with the alternatives of a bottle of 
Ganges water and a copy of the Koran, lay ready for the 
discriminate swearing of witnesses, finished his sentence 
by opening the volume at a certain Office, and then plac- 
ing the open book on the top of the proclamation. “ It 
will be no news to you, sir, that prayers of that sort are 
being used in all the mosques. Of course here, in Luck- 
now, they are for my late master’s return. But if anything 
comparable to the ’15 or the ’45 were to come, Delhi must 
be the center. It is the lens which would focus the 
largest area, the most rays; for it appeals to greed as 
well as good, to this world as well as the next.” 

“ Do you think it a center of disaffection now, Mr. 
Greyman? ” asked the military magnate with an emphasis 
on the title. 

“ I do not know, sir. Zeenut Maihl, the Queen, has 
court intrigues, but they are of little consequence.” 

“ I disagree,” protested the Political. “ You require 
the experience of a lifetime to estimate the enormous in- 
fluence ” 

“ What do you consider of importance, then? ” inter- 
rupted the soldier rather cavalierly, leaning across the 
table eagerly to look at James Greyman. There was an 
instant’s silence, during which those voices rehearsing 
were clearly audible. The tragedy had apparently 
reached a climax. 

“That; and this.” He pointed to the Proclamation, 
and a small fragment of something which he took from 
his waistcoat pocket and laid beside the paper. The 
civilian inspected it curiously, the soldier, leaving his 
chair, came round to look at it also. The sunny room 
.was full of peace and solid security as those three Eng- 
lishmen, with no lack of pluck and brains, stood round 
the white fragment. 

“ Looks like bone,” remarked the soldier. 

“ It is bone, and it was found, so I heard in the 
bazaar to-dav, at the bottom of a Commissariat flour- 
sack ” 


50 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

James Greyman was interrupted by a relieved pshaw! 
from the Political. 

“ The old story, eh, Greyman I I wonder what next 
these ignorant fools 

“ When the ignorant fools happen to be drilled sol- 
diers, and, in Bengal, outnumber our English troops by 
twenty-four to one,” retorted James Greyman sharply, 
“ it seems a work of supererogation to ask what they will 

do next. If I were in their place However, if I 

may tell you how that came into my hands you will per- 
haps be able to grasp the gravity of the situation.” 

“ Won’t you take a chair? ” asked the soldier quickly. 

James Greyman glanced at the Political. “ No, 
thanks, I won’t be long. There is a class of grain car- 
riers called Bunjarahs. They keep herds of oxen, and 
have carried supplies for the Royal troops since time im- 
memorial. They have a charter engraved on a copper 
breastplate. I’ve only seen a copy, for the original 
Jhungi and Bhungi lived ages ago in Rajpootana. It 
runs so : 


“ While Jhungi Bhungi’s oxen 
Carry the army’s corn, 

House-thatch to feed their flocks on. 

House- water ready drawn. 

Three murders daily shriven, 

These rights to them are given, 

While Jhungi Bhungi’s oxen 
Carry the army’s corn.” 

'' Preposterous,” murmured the civilian. That’s at 
an end, anyhow.” 

“ Naturally; for they no longer carry the corn. The 
method is too slow, too Eastern for our Commissariat. 
But the Oude levies used to employ them. So did I at 
the stables. This is over also, and when I last saw my 
tanda — that’s a caravan of them, sir — they were sub-con- 
tracting under a rich Hindoo firm which was dealing di- 
rect with the Department. They didn’t like it.” 

Still you can’t deny that the growth of a strong, con- 
tented commercial class with a real stake in the 
country ” began the civilian hurriedly. 

That sounds like the home-counties or a vestry 


TAPE AND SEALING-WAX. 


51 

board, interrupted his hearer dryly. “ The worst of it, 
in this case, being that you have to get your content out 
of the petty dealers like these Bunjarahs. I came upon 
one yesterday telling a circle of admirers, in the strictest 
confidence of course, lest the Sirkar should kill him for 
letting the cat out of the bag, that he had found that bit 
of bone at the bottom of a Commissariat sack he bought 
to mend his own. The moral being, of course, that it 
was safer to buy from him. But he was only half 
through when I, knowing the scoundrel, fell on him and 
thrashed him for lying. The audience approved, and 
assented to his confession that it was a lie; but only to 
please me, the man with the stick. And as for Jhungi, 
he will tell the tale with additional embellishments in every 
village to which the caravan goes; unless someone is 
there to thrash him if he does.” 

“ Scoundrel,” muttered the soldier angrily. 

“ Or saint,” added James Greyman. “ He will be that 
when he comes to believe his own story of having 
burned the sack rather than use it. That won’t be long. 
Then he will be much more dangerous. However, if 
there is no place vacant for me, sir ” 

‘‘ If you would not mind waiting a minute ” began 

the military magnate, with a hasty look at the Political. 

James Greyman bowed, and retired discreetly to the 
window. It looked out upon just such another garden 
as Kate Erlton’s, and the remembrance provoked the 
cynical question as to what the devil he was doing in that 
galley. Racing was a far safer way of making money 
than acting as a spy; to no purpose possibly, at least so 
far as his own chance was concerned. 

Yet five minutes after, when the Political was writing 
him out a safe conduct in the event of his ever getting 
into difficulties with the authorities, he interrupted the 
scratching of the pen to say, suddenly : 

“ li you would make it out in my own name, sir, I 
should prefer it. James Sholto Douglas, late of the 
th Regiment.” 

“ Hm! ” said the military magnate thoughtfully when 
the new employee in the Secret Intelligence Department 
left the room. So that is Jim Douglas, is it? I 


52 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


thought he was a service man by the set of his shoulders. 
Jim Douglas. 1 remember his case when 1 was in the 
A.-G.’s ottice.” 

“ What was it? ” asked the civilian curiously. 

“ Oh, a woman, of course. I forget the details, she 
was the wife of his major, a drunken beast. There was 
something about a blow, and she didn’t back him up; 
saved her reputation, you understand. But he was an 
uncommonly smart officer, I know that.” 


CHAPTER V. 
bravo! 

The Gissings’ house stood in a large garden; but 
though it was wreathed with creepers, and set with 
flowers after the manner of flowerful Lucknow, there was 
no cult of pansies or such other English treasures here. 
It was gay with that acclimatized tangle of poppies and 
larkspur, marigold, mignonette, and corn cockles which 
Indian gardeners love to sow broadcast in their cartwheel 
mud-beds; powder of flowers as they call the mixed 
seeds they save for it from year to year. 

In the big dark dining room also — where Alice Gis- 
sing, looking half her years in starch, white muslin, and 
blue ribbons, sat at the head of the table — there was no 
cult of England. Everything was frankly, stanchly of 
the nabob and pagoda-tree style; for the Gissings pre- 
ferred India, where they were received into society, to 
England, where they would have been out of it. 

It had been one those heavy luncheons, beginning 
with many meats and much bottled beer, ending with 
much madeira and many cigars, which sent the insurance 
rate for India up to war risks. 

And there was never any scarcity of the best beer at 
the Gissings’, seeing that he had the contract for supply- 
ing it to the British troops. His wife, however, preferred 
solid-looking porter with a creamy head to it, and a 
heavy odor which lingered about her pretty smiling lips. 


B/^A VO / 


53 


It was a most incongruous drink for one of her appear- 
ance; but it never seemed to affect either her gay little 
body or gay little brain; the one remained youthful, slen- 
der, the other brightly, uncompromisingly clear. 

She had been married twice. Once in extreme youth 
to a clerk in the Opium Department, who owed the good 
looks which had attracted her to a trace of dark blood. 
Then she had chosen wealth in the person of Mr. Gissing. 
Had he died, she would probably have married for 
position; since she had a catholic taste for the amenities 
of life. But he had not died, and she had lived with him 
for ten years in good-natured toleration of all his claims 
upon her. As a matter of fact, they did not affect her in 
the least, and in her clear, high voice, she used to wonder 
openly why other women worried over matrimonial 
troubles or fussed over so slight 'an encumbrance as a 
husband. In a way she felt equal to more than one, 
provided they did not squabble over her. That was un- 
pleasant, and she not only liked things to be pleasant, 
but had the knack of making them so; both to the man 
whose name she bore, and whose house she used as a 
convenient spot wherein to give luncheon parties, and 
to the succession of admirers who came to them and 
drank her husband’s beer. 

He was a vulgar creature, but an excellent business 
man, with a knack of piling up the rupees which made 
the minor native contractors, whose trade he was gradu- 
ally absorbing, gnash their teeth in sheer envy. For 
the Western system of risking all to gain all was too 
much opposed to the Eastern one of risking nothing to 
gain little for the hereditary merchants to adopt it at once. 
They have learned the trick of fence and entered the 
lists successfully since then; but in 1858 the foe was new. 
So they fawned on the shrewd despoiler instead, and 
curried favor by bringing his wife fruits and sweets, with 
something costlier hidden in the oranges or sugar drops. 
Alice Gissing accepted everything with a smile; for her 
husband was not a Government servant. The contracts, 
however, being for Government supplies, the givers did 
not discriminate the position so nicely. They used to 
complain .. he Sirkar robbed them both ways, much 


54 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

to Mr. Gissing’s amusement, who, as a method of self- 
glorification, would allude to it at the luncheon parties 
where many men used to come. Men who, between the 
intervals of badinage with the gay little hostess, could 
talk with authority on most affairs. They did not bring 
their wives with them, but Alice Gissing did not seem to 
mind ; she did not get on with women. 

“ So they complain I rob them, do they? ” he said 
loudly, complacently, to the men on either side of him. 
“ My dear Colonel ! an Englishman is bound to rob a 
native if that means creaming the market, for they 
haven’t been educated, sir, on those sound commercial 
principles which have made England the first nation in 
the world. Take this flour contract they are howling 
about. Tm beer by rights, of course, and, by George, 
Fm proud of it. Your men. Colonel, can’t do without 
beer; England can’t do without soldiers; so my business 
is sound. But why shouldn’t I have my finger in any 
other pie which holds money? These hereditary fools 
think I shouldn’t, and they were trying a ring, sir. Ha! 

ha! an absurd upside-down d d Oriental ring based on 

utterly rotten principles. You can’t keep up the price 
of a commodity because your grandfather got that price. 
They ignored the facility of transport given by roads, 
etc., ignored the right of government to benefit — er — 
slightly — by these outlays. Commerce isn’t a selfish 
thing, sir, by gad. If you don’t consider your market 
a bit, you won’t find one at all. So I stepped in, and made 
thousands; for the Commissariat, seeing the saving here, 
of course asked me to contract for other places. It 
serves the idiots uncommon well right; but it will benefit 
them in the end. If they’re to face Western nations they 
must learn — er — the — the morality of speculation.” He 
paused, helped himself to another glass of madeira, and 
added in an unctuous tone, “ but till they do, India’s a 
good place.” 

“ Is that Gissing preaching morality? ” asked his wife, 
in her clear, high voice. The men at her end of the 
table had had their share of her; those others might 
be getting bored by her husband. 

“ Only the morality of business,” put in a coarse-look- 


BJ^A VO ! 


55 


ing fellow who, having been betwixt and between the 
conversations, had been drinking rather heavily. 
“ There’s no need for you to join the ladies as yet, Mrs. 
Gissing.” 

Major Erlton, at her right hand, scowled, and the boy 
on her left flushed up to the eyes. He was her latest ad- 
mirer, and was still in the stage when she seemed an 
angel incarnate. Only the day before he had wanted 
to call out a cynical senior who had answered his 
vehement wonder as to how a woman like she was could 
have married a little beast like Gissing, with the irrever- 
ent suggestion that it might be because the name rhymed 
with kissing. 

In the present instance she heeded neither the scowl 
nor the flush, and her voice came calmly. “ I don’t in- 
tend to, doctor. I mean to send you into the drawing 
room instead. That will be quite ^as effectual to the 
proprieties.” 

Amid the laugh. Major Erlton found opportunity for 
an admiring whisper. She had got the brute well above 
the belt that time. But the boy’s flush deepened; he 
looked at his goddess with pained, perplexed eyes. 

“ The morality of speculation or gambling,” retorted 
the doctor, speaking slowly and staring at the delighted 
Major angrily, “ is the art of winning as much money 
as you can — conveniently. That reminds me, Erlton; 
you must have raked in a lot over that' match.” 

A sudden dull red showed on the face whose admira- 
tion Alice was answering by a smile. 

I won a lot, also,” she interrupted hastily, thanks 
to your tip, Erlton. You never forget your friends.” 

“ No one could forget you — there is no merit ” be- 

gan the boy hastily, then pausing before the publicity of 
his own words, and bewildered by the smile now given to 
him. Herbert Erlton noted the fact sullenly. He 
knew that for the time being all the little lady’s personal 
interest was his ; but he also knew that was not nearly so 
much as he gave her. And he wanted more, not under- 
standing that if she had had’ more to give she would 
probably have been less generous than she was; being 
of that class of women who sin because the sin has no 


S6 OxV THE EACE OF THE WATERS, 

appreciable effect on them. It leaves them strangely, 
inconceivably unsoiled. This imperviousness, however, 
being, as a rule, considered the man’s privilege only, 
Major Erl ton failed to understand the position, and so, 
feeling aggrieved, turned on the lad. 

“ I’ll remember you the next time if you like, Main- 
waring,” he said, ” but someone has to lose in every 
game. I’d grasped that fact before I was your age, and 
made up my mind it shouldn’t be me.” 

“Sound commercial morality!” laughed another 
guest. “ Try it, Mainwaring, at the next Gymkhana, 
By the way, I hear that professional, Greyman, is off, so 
amateurs will have a chance now; he was a devilish fine 
rider.” 

“ Rode a devilish fine horse, too,” put in the unap- 
peased doctor. “ You bought it, Erlton, in spite ” 

“Yes! for fifteen Jiundred,” interrupted the Major, in 
unmistakable defiance. “ A long price, but there was 
kanky panky in that match. Greyman tried fussing to 
cover it. You never can trust professionals. How- 
ever, I and my friends won, and I shall win again with 
the horse. Take you evens in gold mohurs for the 
next ” 

There was always a sledge-hammer method in the 
Major’s fence, and the subject dropped. 

The room was heavy with the odors of meats and 
drinks. Dark as it was, the flood of sunshine streaming 
into the veranda outside, where yellow hornets were 
buzzing and the servants washing up the dishes, sent a 
glare even into the shadows. Neither the furniture nor 
appointments of the room owed anything to the East — 
for Indian art was, so to speak, not as yet invented for 
English folk — yet there was a strange unkennedness 
about their would-be familiarity which suddenly struck 
the latest exile, young Mainwaring. 

“ India is a beastly hole,” he said, in an undertone — 
“ things are so different — I wish I were out of it.” There 
was a note of appeal in his young voice ; his eyes, meet- 
ing Alice Gissing’s, filled with tears to his intense dismay. 
He hoped she might not see them; but she did, and 
leaned over to lay one kindly be-ringed little hand on the 
table quite close to his. 


B/^A VO ! 


57 


YouVe got liver,” she said confidentially. “ India 
is quite a nice place. Come to the assembly to-night, 
and I will give you two extras — whole ones. And don’t 
drink any more madeira, there is a good boy. Come and 
have coffee with me in the drawing room instead; that 
will set you right.” 

Less has set many a boy hopelessly wrong. To do 
Alice Gissing justice, however, she never recognized such 
facts; her own head being quite steady. But Major 
Erlton understood the possible results perfectly, and com- 
mented on them when, as a matter of course, his long 
length remained lounging in an easy-chair after the other 
guests had gone, and Mr. Gissing had retired to business. 
People, from the Palais Royale playwrights, downward 
— or upward — always poke fun at the husbands in such 
situations, and no one jibes at the man who succeeds to 
the cut-and-dried necessity for devotion. Yet there is 
surely something ridiculous in the spectacle of a man 
playing a conjugal part without even a sense of duty to 
give him dignity in it, and the curse of the commonplace 
comes as quickly to Abelard and Heloise as it does to 
Darby and Joan. So Major Erlton, lounging and com- 
menting, might well have been Mrs. Gissing’s legal 
owner. “ Going to make a fool of that lad now, I sup- 
pose, Allie. Why the devil should you when you don’t 
care for boys? ” 

She came to a stand in front of him like a child, her 
hands behind her back, but her china-blue eyes had a 
world of shrewdness in them. “ Don’t I? Do you think 
I care for men either? I don’t. You just amuse me, and 
I’ve got to be amused. By the way, did you remember 
to order the cart at five sharp? I want to go round the 
Fair before the Club.” 

If they had been married ten times over, their spending 
the afternoon together could not have been more of a 
foregone conclusion; there seemed, indeed, no choice in 
the matter. And they were prosaically punctual, too; 
at “ five sharp ” they climbed into the high dog-cart 
boldly, in face of a whole posse of servants dressed in 
the nabob and pagoda-tree style, also with silver crests in 
their pith turbans and huge monograms on their breast- 


58 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

plates; old-fashioned servants with the most antiquated 
notions as to the needs of the sahib logue, and a fund 
of passive resentment for the least change in the inher- 
ited routine of service. Changes which they referred to 
the fact that the new-fangled sahibs were not real sahibs. 
But the heavy, little and big breakfasts, the unlimited 
beer, the solid dinners, the milk punch and brandy pdniy 
all had their appointed values in the Gissings’ house; so 
the servants watched their mistress with approving 
smiles. And on Mondays there was always a larger 
posse than usual to see the old Mai, who had been Alice 
Gissing’s ayah for years and years, hand up the bouquet 
which the gardener always had ready, and say, “ My 
salaams to the missy-baba.” Mrs. Gissing used to take 
the flowers just as she took her parasol or her gloves, 
then she would say, “ All right,” partly to the ayah, partly 
to her cavalier, and the dog-cart, or buggy, or mail- 
phaeton, which ever it happened to be, would go spin- 
ning away. For the old Mai had handed the flowers 
into many different turn-outs and remained on the steps 
ready with the authority of age and long service, to crush 
any frivolous remarks newcomers might make. But the 
destination of the bouquet was always the same ; and that 
was to stand in a peg tumbler at the foot of a tiny white 
marble cross in the cemetery. Mrs. Gissing put a fresh 
offering in it every Monday, going through the ceremony 
with a placid interest; for the date on the cross was far 
back in the years. Still, she used to speak of the little 
life which had come and gone from hers when she was 
yet a child herself, with a certain self-possessed plaintive- 
ness born of long habit. 

“ I was barely seventeen,” she would say, “ and it was 
a dear little thing. Then Saumarez was transferred, and 
I never returned to Lucknow till I married Gissing. It 
was odd, wasn’t it, marrying twice to the same station. 
But, of course, I can’t ask him to, come here, so it is 
doubly kind of you; for I couldn’t come alone, it is so 
sad.” 

Her blue eyes would be limpid with actual tears; yet 
as she waited for the return of the tumbler, which the 
watchman always had to wash out, she looked more like 


BJCA VO / 


59 


■some dainty figure on a cracker than a weeping Niobe. 
-Nevertheless, the admirers whom she took in succession 
into her confidence thought it sweet and womanly of her 
never to have forgotten the dead baby, though they 
rather admired her dislike to live ones. Some of them, 
when their part in the weekly drama came upon them, 
as it alwa3'^s did in the first flush of their fancy for the 
principal actress in it, began by being quite sentimental 
over it. Herbert Erlton did. He went so far once as 
to bring an additional bouquet of pansies from his wife’s 
pet bed : but the little lady had looked' at it with plaintive 
distrust. “ Pansies withered so soon,” she said, “ and as 
the bouquet had to last a whole week, something less 
fragile was better.” Indeed, the gardener’s bouquets, 
compact, hard, with the blossoms all jammed into little 
spots of color among thfc protruding sprigs of privet, were 
more suited to her calm permanency of regret, than the 
passionate purple posy which had looked so pathetically 
out of place in the big man’s coarse hands. She had 
taken it from him, however, and strewn the already 
drooping flowers about the marble. They looked pretty, 
she had said, though the others were best, as she liked 
everything to be tidy; because she had been very, very 
fond of the poor little dear. Saumarez had never been 
kind, and it had been so pretty; dark, like its father, who 
had been a very handsome man. She had cried for days, 
then, though she didn’t like children now. But she 
would always remember this one, always! The old Mai 
and she often talked of it; especially when she was 
dressing for a ball, because the gardener brought 
bouquets for them also. 

Major Erlton, therefore, gave no more pansies, and his 
sentiment died down into a sort of irritable wonder what 
the little woman would be at. The unreality of it all 
struck him afresh on this particular Monday, as he 
watched her daintily removing the few fallen petals; so 
he left her to finish her task while he walked about. The 
cemetery was a perfect garden of a place, with rectangu- 
lar paths bordered by shrubs which rose from a tangle 
of annual flowers like that around the Gissings’ house. 
This blossoming screen hid the graves for the most part ; 


6o 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


but in the older portions great domed erections — gener- 
ally safeguarding an infant’s body — rose above it more 
like summer-houses than tombs. Herbert Erlton pre- 
ferred this part of the cemetery. It was less suggestive 
than the newer portion, and he was one of those whole- 
some, hearty animals to whom the very idea of death is 
horrible. So hither, after a time, she came, stepping 
daintily over the graves, and pausing an instant on the 
way to add a sprig of mignonette to the rosebud she had 
brought from a bush beside the cross; it was a fine, 
healthy bush which .yielded a constant supply of buds 
suitable for buttonholes. She looked charming, but he 
met her with a perplexed frown. 

“I’ve been wondering, Allie,” he said, “ what you 
would have been like if that baby had lived. Would you 
have cared for it? ” 

Her eyes grew startled. “ But I do care for it! Why 
should I come if I didn’t? It isn’t amusing. I’m sure; so 
I think it very unkind of you to suggest ” 

“ I never suggested anything,” he protested. “ I know 

you did — that you do care. But if it had lived ” he 

paused as if something escaped his mental grasp. 
“ Why, I expect you would have been different some- 
how; and I was wondering ” 

“ Oh ! don’t wonder, please, it’s a bad habit,” she re- 
plied, suddenly appeased. “ You will be wondering 
next if I care for you. As if you didn’t know that I do.” 

She was pinning the buttonhole into his coat methodi- 
cally, and he could not refuse an answering smile ; but the 
puzzled look remained. “ I suppose you do, or you 
wouldn’t ” he began slowly. Then a sudden emo- 

tion showed in face and voice. “ You slip from me 
somehow, Allie — slip like an eel. I never get a real 
hold Well! I wonder if women understand them- 

selves? They ought to, for nobody else can, that’s one 
comfort.” Whether he meant he was no denser than 
previous recipients of rosebuds, or that mankind 
benefited by failing to grasp feminine standards, was not 
clear. And Mrs. Gissing was more interested in the fact 
that the mare was growing restive. So they climbed into 
the high dog-cart again, and took her a quieting spin 


BRA VO ! 


6i 


down the road. The fresh wind of their own speed 
blew in their faces, the mare’s, feet scarcely seemed to 
touch the ground, the trees slipped past quickly, the 
palm-squirrels fled chirruping. He flicked his whip 
gayly at them in boyish fashion as he sat well back, his 
big hand giving to the mare’s mouth. Hers lay equably 
in her lap, though the pace would have made most 
women clutch at the rail. 

“ Jolly little beasts; aint they, Allie? ” 

“Jolly altogether; jolly as it can be,” she replied 
with the frank delight of a girl. They had forgotten 
themselves innocently enough; but one of the men in a 
dog-cart, past which they had flashed, put on an outraged 
expression. 

“ Erlton and Mrs. Gissing again! ” he fussed. “ I shall 
tell my wife to cut her. Being in business ourselves we 
have tried to keep square. But this is an open scandal. 
I wonder Mrs. Erlton puts up with it. I wouldn’t.” 

His companion shook his head. “ Dangerous work, 
saying that. Wait till you are k woman. I know more 
about them than most, being a doctor, so I never venture 
on an opinion. But, honestly, I believe most women — 
that little one ahead into the bargain — don’t care a button 
one way or the other. And, for all our talk, I don’t be- 
lieve we do either, when all is said and done.” 

“ What is said and done? ” asked the other peevishly. 

There was a pause. The lessening dog-cart with its 
flutter of ribbons, its driver sitting square to his work, 
showed on the hard white road which stretched like a 
narrowing ribbon over the empty plain. Far ahead a 
little devil of wind swept the dust against the blue sky 
like a cloud. Nearer at hand lay a cluster of mud hov- 
els, and — going toward it before the dog-cart — a woman 
was walking along the dusty side of the road. She had 
a bundle of grass on her head, a baby across her hip, a 
toddling child clinging to her skirts. The afternoon sun 
sent the shadows conglomerate^ across the white metal. 

“ Passion, Love, Lust, the attractions of sex for sex — 
what you will,” said the doctor, breaking the silence. 
“ Nothing is easier knocked out of a man, if he is worth 
calling one — a bugle call, a tight corner God 


62 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


Almighty! — they’re over the child! Drive on like the 
devil, man, and let me see what I can do.” 

There is never much to do when all has been done in 
an instant. There had been a sudden causeless leaving 
of the mother’s side, a toddling child among the shadows, 
a quick oath, a mad rear as the mare, checked by hands 
like a vise for strength, snapped the shafts as if they had 
been straws. No delay, no recklessness; but one of these 
iron-shod hoofs as it flung out had caught the child full 
on the temple, and there was no need to ask what that 
curved blue mark meant, which had gone crashing into 
the skull. 

Alice Gissing had leaped from the dog-cart and stood 
looking at the pitiful sight with wide eyes. 

“We couldn’t do anything,” she said in an odd hard 
voice, as the others joined her. “ There was nothing we 
could do. Tell the woman, Herbert, that we couldn’t 
help it.” 

But the Major, making the still plunging mare a mo- 
mentary excuse for not facing the ghastly truth, had, 
after one short, sharp exclamation — almost of fear, 
turned to help the groom. So there was no sound 
for a minute save the plunging of hoofs on the hard 
ground, the groom’s cheerful voice lavishing endear- 
ments on his restless charge, and a low animal-like 
whimper from the mother, who, after one wild shriek, 
had sunk down in the dust beside the dead child, look- 
ing at the purple bruise dully, and clasping her living 
baby tighter to her breast. For it, thank the gods! 
was the boy. That one with the mark on its forehead 
only the girl. 

Then the doctor, who had been busy with deft but 
helpless hands, rose from his knees, saying a word or two 
in Hindustani which provoked a whining reply from the 
woman. 

“ She admits it was no one’s fault,” he said. “ So 
Erlton, if you will take our dog-cart ” 

But the Major had faced the position by this time. “ I 
can’t go. She is a camp follower, I expect, and I shall 
have to find out — for compensation and all that. If you 


jB/^A VO ! 


63 


would take Mrs. Gissing ” His voice, steady till 

then, broke perceptibly over the name; its owner looked 
up sharply, and going over to him laid her hand on his 
arm. 

‘‘ It wasn’t your fault,” she said, still in that odd hard 
voice. “ You had the mare in hand; she didn’t stir an 
inch. It is a dreadful thing to happen, but ” — she 
threw her head back a little, her wide eyes narrowed 
as a frown puckered her smooth forehead — “ it isn’t as if 
we could haye prevented it. The thing had to be.” 

She might have been the incarnation of Fate itself as 
she glanced down at the dead child in the dust, at the 
living one reaching from its mother’s arms to touch its 
sister curiously, at the slow tears of the mother herself 
as she acquiesced in the eternal fitness of things; for a 
girl more or less was not much in the mud hovel, where 
she and her man lived hardly, and the Huzoors would 
doubtless give rupees in exchange, for they were just. 
She wept louder, however, when with conventional wail- 
ing the women from the clustering huts joined her, while 
the men, frankly curious, listened to the groom’s spirited 
description of the incident. 

“ You had better go, Allie; you do no good here,” said 
the Major almost roughly. He was anxious to get 
through with it all ; he was absorbed in it. 

So the man who had said he was going to tell his wife 
to cut Mrs. Gissing had to help her into the dog-cart. 

“ It was horrible, wasn’t it? ” she said suddenly when, 
in silence, they had left the little tragedy far behind them. 
“We were going an awful pace, but you saw he had the 
mare in hand. He is awfully strong, you know.” She 
paused, and a reflectively complacent smile stole to her 
face. “ I suppose you will think it horrid,” she went on; 
“ but it doesn’t feel to me like killing a human being, 
you know. I’m sorry, of course, but I should have been 
much sorrier if it had been a white baby. Wouldn’t 
you? ” 

She set aside his evasion remorselessly. “ I know all 
that! People say, of course, that it is wicked not to feel 
the same toward people whether they’re black or white. 


64 ON^ THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

But we don't. And they don’t either. They feel just 
the same about us because we are white. Don’t you 
think they do? ” 

“ The antagonism of race he began sententiously, 

but she cut him short again. This time with an irrele- 
vant remark. 

“ I wonder what your wife would say if she saw me 
driving in your dog-cart? ” 

He stared at her helplessly. The one problem was as 
unanswerable as the other. 

“ You had better drive round the back way to the 
Fair,” she said considerately. “ Somebody there will 
take me off your hands. Otherwise you will have to 
drive me to the Club; for I’m not going home. It would 
be dreadful after that horrid business. Besides, the Fair 
will cheer me up. One doesn’t understand it, you know, 
and the people crowd along like figures on a magic lan- 
tern slide. I mean that you never know what’s coming 
next, and that is always so jolly, isn’t it? ” 

It might be, but the man with the wife felt relieved 
when, five minutes afterward, she transferred herself to 
young Mainwaring’s buggy. The boy, however, felt as 
if an angel had fluttered down from the skies to the worn, 
broken-springed cushion beside him; an angel to be 
guarded from humanity — even her own. 

“ How the beggars stare,” he said after they had 
walked the horse for a space through the surging crowds. 
“ Let us get away from the grinning apes.” He would 
have liked to take her to paradise and put flaming swords 
at the gate. 

“ They don’t grin,” she replied curtly, “ they stare like 
Bank-holiday people stare at the wild beasts in the Zoo. 
But let us get away from the watered road, the police- 
men, and all that. That’s no fun. See, go down that 
turning into the middle of it ; you can get out that way to 
the river road afterward if you like.” 

The bribe was sufficient ; it was not far across to peace 
and quiet, so the turn was made. Nor was the staring 
worse in the irregular lane of booths and stalls down 
which they drove. The unchecked crowd was strangely 
silent despite the numberless children carried shoulder 


BRA VO ! 


65 


high to see the show, and though the air was full of throb- 
bings of tomtoms, twanging of sutarasy intermittent pop- 
pings and fizzings of squibs. But it was also strangely 
insistent; going on its way regardless of the shouting 
groom. 

, “ Take care,” said Mrs. Gissing lightly, don’t run 

over another child. By the way, I forgot to tell you — 
the Fair was so funny — but Erlton ran over a black baby. 
It wasn’t his fault a bit, and the mother, luckily, didn’t 
seem to mind; because it was a girl, I expect. Aren’t 
they an odd people? One really never knows what will 
make them cry or laugh.” 

Something was apparently amusing them at that mo- 
ment, however, for a burst of boisterous merriment 
pealed from a dense crowd near a booth pitched in an 
open space. 

“ What’s that? ” she cried sharply. Let’s go and 
see.” 

She was out of the dog-cart as she spoke despite his 
protest that it was impossible — that she must not venture. 

“ Do you imagine they’ll murder me? ” she asked with 
an insouciant, incredulous laugh. What nonsense! 
Here, good people, let me pass, please! ” 

She was by this time in the thick of the crowd, which 
gave way instinctively, and he could do nothing but fol- 
low; his boyish face stern with the mere thought her 
idle words had conjured up. Do her any injury? Her 
dainty dress should not even be touched if he could 
help it. 

But the sightseers, most of them peasants beguiled 
from their fields for this Festival of Spring, had never 
seen an English lady at such close quarters before, if; 
indeed, they had ever seen one at all. So, though they 
gave way they closed in again, silent but insistent in their 
curiosity; while, as the center of attraction came nearer, 
the crowd in front became denser, more absorbed in the 
bursts of merriment. There was a ring of license in them 
which made young Mainwaring plead hurriedly: 

“ Mrs. Gissing! — don’t — please don’t.” 

“ But I want to see what they’re laughing at,” she re- 
plied. And then in perfect mimicry of the groom’s 


66 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

familiar cry, her high clear voice echoed over the heads 
in front of her: ''Hut! Hut! Ari bhaiyan! Hut!” . 

They turned to see her gay face full of smiles, joyous, 
confident, sympathetic, and the next minute the cry was 
echoed with approving grins from a dozen responsive 
throats. 

“Stand back, brothers! Stand back!” 

There were quick bustlings to right and left, quick 
nods and smiles, even broad laughs full of good fellow- 
ship; so that she found herself at the innermost circle 
with clear view of the central space, of the cause of the 
laughter. It made her give a faint gasp and stand trans- 
fixed. Two white-masked figures, clasped waist to waist, 
were waltzing about tipsily. One had a curled flaxen 
wig, a muslin dress distended by an all too visible crino- 
line, giving full play to a pair of prancing brown legs. 
The other wore an old staff uniform, cocked hat and 
feather complete. The flaxen curls rested on the tar- 
nished epaulet, the unembracing arms flourished brandy 
bottles. 

It was a vile travesty; and the Englishwoman 
turned instinctively to the Englishman as if doubtful 
what to do, how to take it. But the passion of his boy- 
ish face seemed to make things clear — to give her the 
clew, and she gripped his hand hard. 

“ Don’t be a fool ! ” she whispered fiercely. “ Laugh. 
It’s the only thing to do.” Her own voice rang out 
thrill above the uncertain stir in the crowd, taken aback 
in its merriment. 

But something else rose above it also. A single 
word: 

“Bravo!” 

She turned like lightning to the sound, her cheeks for 
the first time aflame, but she could see no one in the cir- 
cle of dark faces whom she could credit with the exclama- 
tion. Yet she felt sure she had heard it. 

“Bravo!” Had it been said in jest or earnest, in 

mockery or Young Mainwaring interrupted the 

problem by suggesting that as the maskers had run away 
into a booth, where he could not follow and give them the 
licking they deserved because of her presence, it might 


THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 


67 


be as well for her to escape further insult by returning to 
the buggy. His tone was as full of reproach as that of a 
lad in love could be, but Mrs. Gissing was callous. She 
declared she was glad to have seen it. Englishmen did 
drink and Englishwomen waltzed. Why, then, shouldn’t 
the natives poke fun at both habits if they chose? They 
themselves could laugh at other things. And laugh she 
did, recklessly, at everything and everybody for the re- 
mainder of the drive. But underneath her gayety she 
was harping on that “Bravo!” And suddenly as they 
drove by the river she broke in on the boy’s prattle to 
say excitedly: “ I have it! It must have been the one in 
the Afghan cap who said ‘ Bravo ! ’ He was fairer than 
the rest. Perhaps he was an Englishman disguised. 
Well! I should know him again if I saw him.” 

“Him? who — what? Who said bravo?” asked the 
lad. He had been too angry to notice the exclamation 
at the time. 

She looked at him quizzically. “ Not you — you 
abused me. But someone did — or didn’t ” — here her 
little slack hands resting in her lap clasped each other 
tightly. “ I rather wish I knew. I’d rather like to make 
him say it again. Bravo! Bravo! ” 

And then, as if at her own mimicry, she returned to 
her childish unreasoning laugh. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 

Mrs. Gissing had guessed right. The man in the 
Afghan cap was Jim Douglas, who found the disguise of 
a frontiersman the easiest to assume, when, as now, he 
wanted to mix in a crowd. And he would have said 
“ Bravo ” a dozen times over if he had thought the little 
lady would like to hear it; for her quick denial of the 
possibility of insult had roused his keenest admiration. 
Here had spoken a dignity he had not expected to find 
in one whom he only knew as a woman Major Erlton 
delighted to honor. A dignity lacking in the big brave 


68 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


boy beside her; lacking, alas! in many a big brave 
Englishman of greater importance. So he had risked 
detection by that sudden “ Bravo! ” Not that he dreaded 
it much. To begin with, he was used to it, even when he 
posed as an out-lander, for there was a trick in his gait, 
not to be Orientalized, which made policemen salute 
gravely as he passed disguised to the tent. Then there 
was ignorance of some one or another of the million 
shibboleths which divide men from each other in India; 
shibboleths too numerous for one lifetime’s learning, 
which require to be born in the blood, bred in the bone. 
In this case, also, he had every intention of asserting his 
race by licking one at least of the offenders when the 
show was over. For he happened to know one of them; 
having indeed licked him a few days before over a certain 
piece of bone. So, as the crowd, accepting the finale of 
one amusement placidly, drifted away to see another, he 
walked over to the tent in which the discomforted 
caricaturists had found refuge. It was a tattered old 
military bell-tent, bought most likely at some auction 
with the tattered old staff uniform. As he lifted the flap 
the sound of escaping feet made him expect a stern chase; 
but he was mistaken. Two figures rose with a start of 
studied surprise and salaamed profoundly as he entered. 
They were both stark naked save for a waistcloth, and 
Jim Douglas could not resist a quick glance round for the 
discarded costumes. They were nowhere to be seen; 
being hidden, probably, under the litter of properties 
strewing the squalid green-room. Still of the identity of 
the man he knew Jim Douglas had no doubt, and as this 
one was also the nearest, he promptly seized him by the 
both shoulders and gave him a sound Western kick, 
which would have been follow'ed by others if the recipi- 
ent had not slipped from his hold like an eel. For Jhungi, 
Bunjarah, and general vagrant, habitually oiled him- 
self from head to foot after the manner of his profession 
as a precaution against such possible attempts at capture. 

His assailant, grasping the fact, at any rate, did not 
risk dignity by pursuit; though the man stood salaam- 
ing again within arm’s length. 

“You scoundrel!’’ said Jim Douglas with as much 


THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 


69 


severity as he could command before the mixture of 
deference and defiance, innocence and iniquity, in the 
sharp, cunning face before him. “ Wasn’t the licking I 
gave you before enough ? ” 

Jhungi superadded perplexity to his other show of 
emotions. “ The Huzoor mistakes,” he said, with sud- 
den cheerful understanding. “ It was the miscreant 
Bhungi, my brother, whom the Huzoor licked. The 
misbegotten idler who tells lies in the bazaar about bones 
and sacks. So his skin smarts, but my body is whole. 
Is it not so, Father Tiddu? ” 

The appeal to his companion was made with curious 
eagerness, and Jim Douglas, who had heard this tale of 
the ill-doing double before, looked at the witness to it 
with interest. That this man was or was not Jhungi’s 
co-offender he could not say with certainty, for there was 
a remarkable lack of individuality about both face and 
figure when in repose. But the nickname of Tiddu, or 
cricket, was immediately explained by the jerky angu- 
larity of his actions,. Save for the faint frostiness of 
sprouting gray hairs on a shaven cheek and skull he 
might have been any age. 

“ Of a truth it was Bhungi,” he said in a well-modu- 
lated but creaky voice. “ Time was when liars, such as 
he, fell dead. Now they don’t even catch fevers, and if 
they do, the Huzoors give them a bitter powder and start 
them lying again. So, since one dead fish stinks a whole 
tank, virtuous Jhungi, being like as two peas in a pod, 
suffers an ill-name. But Bhungi will know what it 
means to tell lies when he stands before his Creator. 
Nevertheless in this world the master being enraged ” 

“ Not so. Father Tiddu,” interrupted Jhungi glibly, 
'' the Huzoor is but enraged with Bhungi. And rightly. 
Did not we hide our very faces with shame while he mim- 
icked the noble people? Did we not try to hold him 
when he fled from punishment — as the Huzoor no doubt 
heard ” 

Jim Douglas without a word slipped his hand down 
the man’s back. The wales of a sound hiding were 
palpable; so was his wince as he dodged aside to 
salaam again. 


70 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


“ The Huzoor is a male judge,” he said admiringly. 
'‘No black man could deceive him. This slave has cer- 
tainly been whipped. He fell among liars who robbed 
him of his reputation. Will the Huzoor do likewise? 
On the honor of a Bunjarah ’tis Bhungi whom the 
Huzoor beats. He gives Jhungi bitter powders when 
he gets the fever. And even Bhungi but tries to earn a 
stomachful as he can when the Huzoors take his trade 
from him.” 

“ The world grows hollow, to match a man’s swallow,” 
quoted Tiddu affably. 

The familiar by-word of poverty, the quiet mingling of 
truth and falsehood, daring and humility in Jhungi’s plea, 
roused both Jim Douglas’ sense of humor, and the 
sympathy — which with him was always present — for the 
hardness and squalidness of so many of the lives around 
him. 

“ But you -can surely earn the stomachful honestly,” 
he said, anger passing into irritation. “ What made you 
take to this trade?” He kicked at a pile of properties, 
and in scf doing disclosed the skeleton of a crinoline. 
Jhungi with a shocked expression stooped down and 
covered it up decorously. 

“But it is my trade,” he replied; “the Huzoor must 
surely have heard of the Many-Faced tribe of Bunjarahs? 
I am of them.’ 

“ Lie not, Jhungi! ” interrupted Tiddu calmly, “ he is 

but my apprentice, Huzoor, but I ” he paused, caught 

up a cloth, gave it one dexterous twirl round him, squatted 
down, and there he was, to the life, a veiled woman 
watching the stranger with furtive, modest eye. “ But 
I,” came a round feminine voice full of feminine inflec- 
tions, “ am of the thousand-faced people who wander to 
a thousand places. A new place, a new face. It makes 
a large world, Huzoor, a strange world.” There was a 
melancholy cadence in his voice, which added interest to 
the sheer amaze which Jim Douglas was feeling. He had 
heard the legend of the Many-Faced Tribe, had even seen 
clever actors claiming to belong to it, and knew how the 
Stranglers deceived their victims, but anything like this 


THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 


71 


he had never credited, much less seen. He himself, 
though he knew to the contrary, could scarcely combat 
the conviction that a woman sat within those folds, which 
seemed to come to him from that one furtive eye. 

“ But how? ” he begun in perplexity. “ 1 thought the 
Baharupas never went in caravans.’' 

Tiddu resumed the cracked voice and let the smile 
become visible, and, as if by magic, the illusion disap- 
peared. “ The Huzoor is right. We are wanderers. 
But in my youth a woman tied me to one place, one face ; 
women have the trick, Huzoor, even if they are wander- 
ers themselves. This one was, but I loved her; so after 
we had burned her and her fellow-wanderer together 
hand-in-hand, according to the custpm, so that they 
might wander elsewhere but not in the tribe, I lingered 
on. He was the father of Jhungi, and the boy being left 
destitute I taught him to play; for it needs two in the 
play as in life. The man and the woman, or folks care 
not for it. So 1 taught Jhungi ” 

“ And brother Bhungi? ” suggested his hearer dryly. 

A faint chuckle came from the veil. “ And Bhungi. 
He plays well, and hath beguiled an old rascal with thin 
legs and a fat face like mine into playing with him. Some, 
even the Huzoor himself, might be beguiled into mistak- 
ing Siddu for Tiddu. But it is a tom-cat to a tiger. So 
being warned, the Huzoor will give no unearned blows. 
Yet if he did, are not two kicks bearable from the milch- 
cow?” As he spoke he angled out a hand impudently 
for an alms with the beggars’ cry of “ Alakh,” to point 
his meaning. 

It was echoed by Jhungi, who, envious of Tiddu’s 
holding the boards, as it were, had in sheer devilry and 
desire not to be outdone, taken up the disguise of a 
mendicant. It was a most creditable performance, but 
Tiddu dismissed it with a waive of the hand. 

“ Biillah! ” he said contemptuously, “ ’tis the refuge of 
fools. There is not one true beggar in fifty, so the forty- 
and-nine false ones go free of detention as the potter’s 
donkey. The Huzoor could do better — had I the teach- 
ing of him.” 

He leaned forward, dropping his voice slightly, and 


72 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

Jim Douglas narrowed his eyes as men do when some 
unbidden idea claims admittance to the brain. 

“You?” he echoed; “what could you teach me?” 

Tiddu rose, let fall the veil to decent dignified drapery, 
and fixed his eyes full on the questioner. They were 
luminous eyes, differing from Jhungi’s beady ones as 
the fire-opal differs from the diamond. 

“What could I teach?” he re-echoed, and his tone, 
monotonously distinct to Jim Douglas, was inaudible 
to others, judging by Jhungi’s impassive face. “ Many 
things. For one, that the Baharupas are not mimics 
only. They have the Great Art. What is it? God 
knows. But what they will folk to see, that is seen. 
That and no more.” 

Jim Dou las laughed derisively. Animal magnetism 
and mesmerism were one thing: this was another. 

“ The Huzoor thinks I lie; but he must have heard of 
the doctor sahib in Calcutta who made suffering forget 
to suffer.” 

“ You mean Dr. Easdale. Did you know him? Was 
he a pupil of yours? ” came the cynical question. 

Tiddu’s face became expressionless. “ Perhaps; but 
this slave forgets names. Yet the Huzoors have the gift 
sometimes. The Baharupas have it not always; though 
the father’s hoard goes oftenest to the son. Now, if, by 
chance, the Huzoor had the gift and could use it, there 
would be no need for policemen to salute as he passes; 
no need for the drug-smokers to cease babbling when 
he enters. So the Pluzoor could find out what he wants 
to find out; what he is paid to find out.” 

His eyes met Jim Douglas’ surprise boldly. 

“ How do you know I want to find out anything? ” 
said the latter, after a pause. 

Tiddu laughed. “ The Huzoor must find a turban 
heavy, and there is no room for English toes in a native 
shoe; folk seek not such discomfort for naught.” 

Jim Douglas paused again; the fellow was a charlatan, 
but he was consummately clever; and if there was any- 
thing certain in this world it was the wisdom of forget- 
ting Western prejudices occasionally in dealing with the 
East. 


THE GIFT OF MAHY FACES. 


73 


“ Send that man away/' he said curtly, “ I want to 
talk to you alone." 

But the request seemed lost on Tiddu. He folded up 
the veil impudently, and resumed the thread of the for- 
mer topic. “ Yet Jhungi plays the beggar well, for 
which Fate be praised, since he must ask alms else- 
where if the Huzoor refuses them. For the purse is 
empty " — here he took a leathern bag from his waist- 
band and turned it inside out — “ by reason of the 
Huzoor’s dislike to good mimics. So thou must to the 
temples, Jhungi, and if thou meetest Bhungi give him 
the sahib’s generous gift; for blows should not be taken 
on loan." 

Jhungi, who all this time had been telling his beads 
like the best of beggars, looked up with some perplexity; 
whether real or assumed Jim Douglas felt it was impos- 
sible to say, in that hotbed of deception. 

“Bhungi?" echoed the former, rising to his feet. 
“ Ay! that will I, if I meet him. But God knows as to 
that. God knows of Bhungi ’’ 

“ The purse is empty," repeated Tiddu in a warning 
voice, and Jhungi, with a laugh, pulled himself and his 
disguise together, as it were, and passed out of the tent; 
his beggar’s cry, “ Alakh! Alakh! ’’ growing fainter and 
fainter while Tiddu and Jim Douglas looked at each 
other. 

“ Jhungi-Bhungi — Bhungi-Jhungi," jeered the Ba- 
harupa, suddenly, jingling the names together. “ Which 
be which, as he said, God knows, not man. That is the 
best of lies. They last a body’s lifetime, so the Huzoor 
may as well learn old Tiddu’s ’’ 

“ Or Siddu’s?" 

“ Or Siddu’s,’’ assented the mountebank calmly. 
“ But the Huzoor cannot learn to use his gift from that 
old rascal. He must come to the many-faced one, who 
is ready to teach it.’’ 

“ Why?" 

Tiddu abandoned mystery at once. 

“ For fifty rupees, Huzoor; not a pice less. Now, in 
my hand." 

Was it worth it? Jim Douglas decided instantly that 


74 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

it might be. Not for the gift’s sake; of that he was 
incredulous. But Tiddu was a consummate actor and 
could teach many tricks worth knowing. Then in this 
roving commission to report on anything he saw and 
heard to the military magnate, it would suit him for the 
time to have the service of an arrant scoundrel. Be- 
sides, the pay promised him being but small, the wisdom 
of having a second string to the bow of ambition had 
already decided him on combining inquiry with judi- 
cious horse-dealing; since he could thus wander through 
villages buying, through towns selling, without arousing 
suspicion; and this life in a caravan would start him on 
these lines effectively. Finally, this offer of Tiddu’s was 
unsought, unexpected, and, ever since Kate Erlton’s 
appeal, Jim Douglas had felt a strange attraction toward 
pure chance. So he took out a note from his pocket- 
book and laid it in the Baharupa’s hand. 

“ You asked fifty,” he said, “ I give a hundred; but 
with the branch of the neem-tree between us two.” 

Tiddu gave him an admiring look. “ With the sacred 
' him ke dagla ’ between us, and Mighty Murri am her- 
self to see it grow,” he echoed. “ Is the Huzoor satis- 
fied?” 

The Englishman knew enough of Bunjarah oaths to 
be sure that he had, at least, the cream of them ; besides, 
a hundred rupees went far in the purchase of good faith. 
So that matter was settled, and he felt it to be a distinct 
relief; for during the last day or two he had been cast- 
ing about for a fair start rather aimlessly. In truth, he 
had underrated the gap little Zora’s death would make 
in his life, and had been in a way bewildered to find him- 
self haunting the empty nest on the terraced roof in for- 
lorn, sentimental fashion. The sooner, therefore, that 
he left Lucknow the better. So, as the Bunjarah had 
told him the caravan was starting the very next morn- 
ing, he hastily completed his few preparations, and 
having sent Tara word of his intention, went, after the 
moon had risen, to lock the doors on the past idyl and 
take the key of the garden-house back to its owner; for 
he himself had always lodged, in European fashion, near 
the Palace. 


THE GIFT OF MANY FACES, 


75 


The garden, as he entered it, lay peaceful as ever; so 
utterly unchanged from what he remembered it on many 
balmy moonlit nights, that he could not help looking 
up once more, as if expectant of that tinsel flutter, that 
soft welcome, '' Khushdmudund Husrut.” Strange! So 
far as he was concerned the idyl might be beginning; 
but for her? All unconsciously, as he paused, his 
thought found answer in one spoken word — the Persian 
equivalent for “ it is finished/’ which has such a finality 
in its short syllables: 

“ Khutm.” 

“ Khutm.” The echo came from Tara’s voice, but it 
had a ring in it which made him turn, anticipating some 
surprise. She was standing not far off, below the plinth, 
as he was, having stepped out from the shadow of the 
trees at his approach, and she was swathed from head to 
foot in the white veil of orthodox widowhood, which 
encircled her face like a cere-cloth. Even in the moon- 
light he could see the excitement in her face, the glitter 
in the large, wild eyes. 

“Tara!” he exclaimed sharply, his experience warn- 
ing him of danger, “ what does this mean? ” 

“ That the end has come; the end at last! ” she cried 
theatrically; every fold of her drapery, though she stood 
stiff as a corpse, seeming to be instinct with fierce vitality. 

He changed his tone at once, perceiving that the 
danger might be serious. “ You mean that your serv- 
ice is at an end,” he said quietly. “ I told you that 
some days ago. Also that your pay would be continued 
because of your goodness to her — to the dead. I 
advised your returning north, nearer your own people, 
but you are free to go or stay. Do you want anything 
more? If you do, be quick, please, for I am in a hurry.” 

His coolness, his failure to remark on the evident 
meaning of her changed dress, calmed her somewhat. 

“ I want nothing,” she replied sullenly. “ A suttee 
wants nothing in this world, and I am suttee. I have been 
the master’s servant for gratitude’s sake — now I am the 
servant of God for righteousness’ sake.” So far she had 
spoken as if the dignified words had been pre-arranged; 


76 Oht THE PACE OF THE WATEkS. 

now she paused in a sort of wistful anger at the indiffer- 
ence on his face. The words meant so much to her, 
and, as she ceased from them, their controlling power 
seemed to pass also, and she flung out her arms wildly, 
then brought them down in stinging blows upon her 
breasts. 

“ I am suttee. Yes! I am suttee! Reject me not again, 
ye Shining Ones! reject me not again.’’ 

The cry was full of exalted resolve and despair. It 
made Jim Douglas step up to her, and seizing both 
hands, hold them fast. 

“ Don’t be a fool, Tara! ” he said sternly. “ Tell me, 
sensibly, what all this means. Tell me what you are 
going to do.” 

His touch seemed to scorch her, for she tore herself 
away from it vehemently; yet it seemed also to quiet 
her, and she watched him with somber eyes for a minute 
ere replying: “ I am going to Holy Gunga. Where else 
should a suttee go? The Water will not reject me as the 
Fire did, since, before God! I am suttee. As the master 
knows,” — her voice held a passionate appeal, — “ I have 
been suttee all these long years. Yet now I have given 
up all— all ! ” 

With a swift gesture, full of womanly grace, but with 
a sort of protest against such grace in its utter abandon- 
ment and self-forgetfulness, she flung out her arms once 
more. This time to raise the shrouding veil from her 
head and shoulders. Against this background of white 
gleaming in the moonlight, her new-shaven skull showed 
death-life, ghastly. Jim Douglas recoiled a step, not 
from the sight itself, but because he knew its true mean- 
ing; knew that it meant self-immolation if she were left 
to follow her present bent. She would simply go down 
to the Ganges and drown herself. An inconceivable 
state of affairs, beyond all rational understanding; but 
to be reckoned with, nevertheless, as real, inevitable. 

“ What a pity! ” he said, after a moment’s pause had 
told him that it would be well to try and take the starch 
out of her resolution by fair means or foul, leaving its 
cause for future inquiry. “ You had such nice hair. I 
used to admire it very much.” 


THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 


n 


Her hands fell slowly, a vague terror and remorse 
came to her eyes; and he pursued the advantage re- 
morselessly. “ Why did you cut it off? ” He knew, of 
course, but his affected ignorance took the color, the 
intensity from the situation, by making her feel her coup 
de theatre had failed. 

“ The Huzoor must know,” she faltered, anger and 
disappointment and vague doubt in her tone, while her 
right hand drew itself over the shaven skull as if to make 

sure there was no mistake. “ I am suttee ” The 

familiar word seemed to bring certainty with it, and she 
went on more confidentially. “ So I cut it all off and it 
lies there, ready, as I am, for purification.” 

She pointed to the upper step leading to the plinth, 
where, as on an altar, lay all her worldly treasures, 
arranged carefully with a view to effect. The crimson 
scarf she had always worn was folded — with due regard 
to the display of its embroidered edge — as a cloth, and 
at either end of it lay a pile of trumpery personal adorn- 
ments, each topped and redeemed from triviality by a 
gold wristlet and anklet. In the center, set round by 
fallen orange-blossoms, rose a great heap of black hair, 
snakelike in glistening coils. The simple pomposity of 
the arrangement was provocative of smiles, the wistful 
eagerness of the face watching its effect on the master 
was provocative of tears. Jim Douglas, feeling inclined 
for both, chose the former deliberately; he even managed 
a derisive laugh as he stepped up to the altar and laid 
sacrilegious hands on the hair. Tara gave a cry of dis- 
may, but he was too quick for her, and dangled a long 
lock before her very eyes, in jesting, but stern decision. 

“ That settles it, Tara. You can go to Gunga now if 
you like, and bathe and be as holy as you like. But 
there will be no Fire or Water. Do you understand?” 

She looked at the hand holding the hair with the 
oddest expression, though she said obstinately, “ I shall 
drown if I choose.” 

“Why should you choose?” he asked. “You know 
as well as I that it is too late for any good to you or 
others. The Fire and Water should have come twelve 
years ago. The priests won’t say so of course. They 


78 ON TNE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

want fools to help them in this fuss about the new law. 
Ah! I thought so! They have been at you, have they? 
Well, be a fool if you like, and bring them pennies at 
Benares as a show. You cannot do anything else. You 
can't even sacrifice your hair really, so long as I have 
this bit.” He began to roll the lock round his finger, 
neatly. 

“What is the Huzoor going to do with it?” she 
asked, and the oddness had invaded her voice. 

“ Keep it,” he retorted. “ And by all these thirty 
thousand and odd gods of yours. I’ll say it was a love- 
token if I choose. And I will if you are a fool.” He 
drew out a small gold locket attached to the Brah- 
minical thread he always wore, and began methodically « 
to fit the curl into it, wondering if this cantrip of his — 
for it was nothing more — ^would impress Tara. Pos- 
sibly. He had found such suggestions of ritual had 
an immense effect, especially with the womenkind who 
were for ever inventing new shackles for themselves; but 
her next remark startled him considerably. 

“Is the hihi's hair in there too?” she asked. There 
was a real anxiety in her tone, and he looked at her 
sharply, wondering what she would be at. 

“ No,” he answered. In truth it was empty; and had 
been empty ever since he had taken a fair curl from it 
many years before; a curl which had ruined his life. 
The memory making him impatient of all feminine 
subtleties, he added roughly, “ It will stay there for the 
present; but if you try suttee nonsense I swear I’ll tie it 
up in a cowskin bag, and give it to a sweeper to make 
broth of.” 

The grotesque threat, which suggested itself to his 
sardonic humor as one suitable to the occasion, and 
which in sober earnest was terrible to one of her race, 
involving as it did eternal damnation, seemed to pass 
her by. There was even, he fancied, a certain relief in 
the face watching him complete his task; almost a smile 
quivering about her lips. But when he closed the locket 
with a snap, and was about to slip it back to its place, 
the full meaning of the threat, of the loss — or of some- 
thing beyond these — seemed to overtake her; an un- 


THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 


79 


mistakable terror, horror, and despair swept through 
her. She flung herself at his feet, clasping them with 
both hands. 

“ Give it me back, master,” she pleaded wildly. 
“Hinder me not again! Before God I am suttee! I 
am suttee! ” 

But this same Eastern clutch of appeal is disconcert- 
ing to the average Englishman. It fetters the under- 
standing in another sense, and smothers sympathy in a 
desire to be left alone. Even Jim Douglas stepped 
back from it with something like a bad word. She re- 
mained crouching for a moment with empty hands, 
then rose in scornful dignity. 

“ There was no need to thrust this slave away,” she 
said proudly. “ Tara, the Rajputni, will go without 
that. She will go to Holy Gunga and be purged of in- 
most sin. Then she will return and claim her right of 
suttee at the master’s hand. Till then he may keep what 
he stole.” 

“ He means to keep it,” retorted the master savagely, 
for he had come to the end of his patience. “ Though 
what this fuss about suttee means I don’t know. You 
used to be sensible enough. What has come to you?” 

Tara looked at him helplessly, then, wrapping her 
widow’s veil round her, prepared to go in silence. She 
could not answer that question even to herself. She 
would not even admit the truth of the old tradition, that 
the only method for a woman to preserve constancy to 
the dead was to seek death itself. That would be to 
admit too much. Yet that was the truth, to which her 
despair at parting pointed even to herself. Truth? No! 
it was a lie ! She would disprove it even in life' if she 
was prevented from doing so by death. So, without a 
word, she gathered up the crimson drapery and what 
lay on it. Then, with these pathetic sacrifices of all the 
womanhood she knew tight clasped in her widow’s veil, 
she paused for a last salaam. 

The incomprehensible tragedy of her face irritated 
him into greater insistence. 

“But what is it all about?” he reiterated. “Who 
has been putting these ideas into your head? Who has 


8o 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


been telling you to do this? Is it Soma, or some devil 
of a priest? 

As he waited for an answer the floods of moonlight 
threw their shadows together to join the perfumed dark- 
ness of the orange trees. The city, half asleep already, 
sent no sound to invade the silence. 

“No! master. It was God.” 

Then the shadow left his and disappeared with her 
among the trees. He did not try to call her back. That 
answer left him helpless. 

But as, after climbing the stairs, he passed slowly from 
one to another of the old familiar places in the pleasant 
pavilions, the mystery of such womanhood as Tara 
Devi’s and little Zora’s oppressed him. Their eternal 
cult of purely physical passion, their eternal struggle for 
perfect purity and constancy, not of the soul, but the 
body; their worship alike of sex and He who made it 
seemed incomprehensible. And as he turned the key 
in the lock for the last time, he felt glad to think that it 
was not likely the problem would come into his life 
again ; even though he carried a long lock of black hair 
with him. It was an odd keepsake, but if he was any 
judge of faces his cantrip had served his purpose; Tara 
would not commit suicide while he. held that hostage. 

So, having scant leisure left, he hurried through the 
alleys to return the key. They were almost deserted; 
the children at this hour being asleep, the men away 
lounging in the bazaars. But every now and again a 
formless white figure clung to a corner shadow to let him 
pass. A v^hite shadow itself, recalling the mystery he 
had been glad to leave unsolved; for he knew them to 
be women taking this only opportunity for a neighborly 
visit. Old or young, pretty or ugly? What did it 
matter? They were women, born temptresses of vir- 
tuous men; and they were proud of the fact, even the 
poor old things long past their youth. There was a 
chink in a door he was about to pass. A chink an inch 
wide with a white shadow behind it. A woman was 
looking out. What sort of a woman, he wondered 
idly? Suddenly the chink widened, a hand crept 
through it, beckoning. He could see it clearly in the 


THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 


8i 


moonlight. An old wrinkled hand, delicately old, deli- 
cately wrinkled, inconceivably thin, but with the pink 
henna stain of the temptress still on palms and fingers. A 
hand with the whole history of seclusion written on it. 
He crossed over to it, and heard a hurried breathless 
whisper. 

“ If the Huzoor would listen for the sake of any 
woman he loves.” 

It was an old voice, but it sent a thrill to his heart. “ I 
am listening, mother,” he replied, “ for the sake of the 
dead.” 

“ God send her grave peace, my son! ” came the voice 
less hurriedly. “ It is not much for listening. I am 
pensioner, Huzoor. The King gave me three rupees, 
but now he is gone and the money comes not. If the 
Huzoor would tell those who send it that Ashraf-un- 
Nissa-Zainub-i-Mahal — the Huzoor may know my 
name, being as my father and mother — wants it. That 
is all, Huzoor.” 

It was not much, but Jim Douglas could supplement 
the rest. Here was evidently a woman who had lived 
on bounty, and who was starving for the lack of it. 
There were hundreds in her position, he knew, even 
among those whose pensions had been guaranteed; for 
they had not been paid as yet. The papers were not 
ready, the tape not tied, the sealing-wax not sealed. 

“ It will not be for long, Huzoor, and it is only three 
rupees. I was watching for a neighbor to borrow corn, 
if I could, and seeing the Huzoor ” 

“ It is all right, mother,” he interrupted reassuringly. 
“ I was coming to pay it. Hold the hand straight and 
I will count it in. Three rupees for three months; that 
is nine.” 

The chink of the silver had a background of bless- 
ings, and Jim Douglas walked on, thinking what a 
quaint commentary this little incident was on his 
puzzle. “ Ashraf-un-Nissa-Zainub-i-Mahal.” “ Honor- 
of-women and Ornament-of-Palaces.” If the King’s pay- 
master had thought twice about such things, the poor 
old lady might not have been starving. He was the real 
culprit. And three months’ delay was not long for sane- 


82 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


tions, references, for all the paraphernalia and complex 
machinery of our Government. But a case like this? 
He looked up into the star-sprinkled riband of sky be- 
tween the narrowing housetops, and wondered from how 
many unseen hearths and unheard voices the cry, “ How 
long, O Lord! How long!” was rising. But even to 
his listening ear there was no sign, no sound. And as 
he went on through the bazaars, the crowds were pass- 
ing and repassing contentedly upon the trivial errands 
of life, and the twinkling cressets in the shops showed 
faces eager only after a trivial loss or gain. 

And the world of Lucknow was apparently awaken- 
ing contentedly to a new day, when, before dawn, he 
passed out of it disguised by Tiddu as 'a deaf-and- 
dumb driver to the bullock which carried the tat- 
tered bell-tent and the tattered staff uniform. It was 
still dark, but there was a sense of coming light in the 
sky, and the hum of the housewives’ querns, early at 
work over tlie coming day’s bread, filled the air like 
swarming bees. The spectral white shadows of widow- 
drudges were already at work on the creaking well- 
gear, and the swish of their reed brooms could be heard 
behind screening walls. 

But on the broad white road beyond the bazaars the 
fresh perfume of the dew-steeped gardens drifted with 
the faint breeze which heralds the dawn. And down 
the road, heard first, then dimly seen against its white- 
ness, came a band of chanting pilgrims to the Holy 
River. 

“ Hiirri Gunga! Hurri Gunga! Htirri Gtmga!’* 

Jim Douglas, swerving his bullock to give them 
room, wondered if Tara were among them. What if 
she were? That lock of hair went with him. So, with 
a smile, he swerved the bullock back again. There was 
a hint of a gleaming river-curve through the lessening 
trees now, and that big black mass to his left must be 
the Bailey-guard gate. He could see a faint white 
streak like a sentry beside it; so it must be close on 
gunfire. Even as the thought came, a sudden rolling 
boom filled the silence, and seemed to vibrate against 
the archway. And hark! From within the Residency, 


THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 


83 


and from far Dilkhusha, the clear glad notes of the 
reveille answered the challenge; while close at hand the 
clash of arms told they were changing" guards. Then, 
though he could not see it, the English flag must be ris- 
ing beyond the trees to float over the city during the 
coming day. 

For one day more, at least. 


BOOK II. 

THE BLOWING OF THE BUBBLE, 


CHAPTER 1. 

IN THE PALACE. 

It was a day in late September. Nearly six months, 
therefore, had gone by since Jim Douglas had passed 
the Bailey-guard at gunfire, and the English flag had 
risen behind the trees to float over Lucknow. It 
floated there now, serenely, securely, with an air of 
finality in its folds; for folk were becoming accustomed 
to it. At least so said the official reports, and even Jim 
Douglas himself could trace no waxing in the tide of 
discontent. It neither ebbed nor flowed, but beat 
placidly against the rocks of offense. 

But at Delhi there was one corner of the city over 
which the English flag did not float. It lay upon the 
eastern side above the river where four rose-red fortress 
walls hemmed in a few acres of earth from the march of 
Time himself, and safe-guarded a strange survival of 
sovereignty in th^ person of Bahadur Shah, last of the 
Moghuls. An old man past eighty years of age, who 
dreamed a dream of power among the golden domes, 
marble colonnades, and green gardens with which his 
ancestors had crowned the eastern wall. 

The sun shone hotly, steamily, within those four 
inclosing walls, save on that eastern edge, where the cool 
breezes from the plains beyond blew through open 
arches and latticed balconies. For the rest, the palace- 
fort — shut in from all outside influence — was like some 
tepid, teeming breeding-place for strange forms of life 
unknown to purer, clearer atmospheres. 

It was at the Lahore gate of this Delhi palace that on 

84 


IN THE PALACE. 


H 

this late September day a tawdry palanquin, followed 
by a few tawdry retainers, paused before a cavernous 
arch, ending the quaint, lofty vaulted tunnel which led 
inward for some fifty yards or more to another barrier. 
Here an old man in spectacles sat writing hurriedly. 

“ Quick, fool, quick! Read, and let me sign,” called 
the huge unwieldy figure in the palanquin, as the 
bearers, panting under their gross burden, shifted shoul- 
ders. Mahboob Ali, Chief Eunuch and Prime Minister, 
groaned under the jolt; it was a foretaste of many to be 
endured ere he reached the Resident’s house, miles away 
on the northern edge of the river. Yet he had to endure 
them, for important negotiations were on foot between 
the Survival and Civilization. The heir-apparent to 
those few acres where the sun stood still had died, had 
been poisoned some said; md another had to be recog- 
nized. There was no lack of claimants; there never 
was a lack of claimants to anything within those walls, 
where everyone strove to have P e first and last word 
with the Civilization which supported the Survival. 
And here was he, Mahboob, Prime Minister, being 
delayed by a miserable scrivener. 

“Read, pig! read,” he reiterated, laying his puffy 
hand on his jeweled sword-hilt; for he was still within 
the gate, therefore a despot. A few yards further he 
would be a dropsical old man; no more. 

“ Your slave reads! ” faltered the editor of the Court 
Journal. “ Mussamat Hafzan’s record of the women’s 
apartments being late to-day, hath delayed ” 

“ ’Twas in time enough, uncle, if thou wouldst make 
fewer flourishes,” retorted a woman’s voice; it was noth- 
ing but a voice by reason of the voluminous Pathan veil 
covering the small speaker. 

“ Curse thee for a misbegotten hound! ” bawled Mah- 
boob. “ Am I to lose the entrance fee I paid Gamu, the 
Huzoor’s orderly, for first interview — when money is so 
scarce too ! Read as it stands, idiot — ’tis but an idle tale 
at best.” 

The last was an aside to himself as he lay back in his 
cushions; for, idle though the tale was undoubtedly, it 
suited him to be its Prime Minister. The editor laid 


86 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. . 


down his pen hurriedly, and the polished Persian poly- 
syllables began to trip over one another, while their 
murmurous echo — as if eager to escape the familiar 
monotony — sped from arch to arch of the long tunnel, 
which was lit about the middle by side arches on the 
guards’ quarters, and through which the sunlight 
streamed in a broad band of gold across the red stone 
causeway. 

The attributes of the Almighty having come to an end 
the reader began on those of Bahadur Shah, Father of 
Victory, Light of Religion, Polestar and Defender of 
the Faith 

“ Faster, fool, faster,” came the fat voice. 

The spectacled old man swallowed his breath, as it 
were, and went on at full gallop through the uprisal and 
bathing of Majesty, through feelings of pulses and recep- 
tion of visitors, then slowed down a bit over the recital 
of dinner; for he was a gourmet y and his tongue loved 
the very sound of dainty dishes. 

“May your grave be spat upon!” shouted the Chief 
Eunuch. “ So none were poisoned by it what matters 
the food? Pass on ” 

“ The Most Exalted then said his appointed prayers,” 
gasped the reader. “ The Light-of-the-World then 
slept his usual sleep. On awakening, the physician 
Ahsan-Oolah ” 

Mahboob sat up among his cushions. “ Ahsan- 
Oolah! he felt the Royal pulse at dawn also ” 

“ The Most Noble forgets,” interrupted a voice with 
the veiled venom of a partisan in its suavity. “ The 
King — may his enemies die! — took a cooling draught 
yesterday and requires all the care we can give him.” 

“ The King, Meean-sahib, needs nothing save the 
prayers of the holy priest, who has piously made over 
long years of his own life to prolong his Majesty’s,” re- 
torted Mahboob, scowling at the speaker, who wore the 
Moghul dress, proclaiming him a member of the royal 
family. There was no lack of such in the palace-fort, 
for though Bahadur Shah himself, being more or less 
of a saint, had contented himself with some sixty chil- 
dren, his ancestors had sometimes run to six hundred. 


IN THE PALACE, 


87 


The Meean-sahib laughed scornfully as he passed 
inward, and muttering that those who went forth with 
the clog’s trot might return with the cat’s slink, since the 
great question had yet to be settled. Mahboob’s scowl 
deepened; the very audacity of the interruption rousing 
a fear lest the king’s eldest son, Mirza Moghul, whose 
partisan the speaker was, might have some secret under-, 
standing with Civilization. All the more need for haste. 

“ Read on, fool! Who told thee to stop?” 

‘‘ The Princess Farkhoonda Zamani entered by the 
Delhi gate.” 

Mahboob gave a scornful laugh in his turn. To visit 
the Mirza’s house, no doubt. Let her come — a pretty 
fool! Yet she had wiser stay where she hath chosen 
to live, instead of being princess one day and plain 
Newasi the next. There are enough women without 
her in the palace ! ” 

So it seemed, to judge by the stream of female names 
and titles belonging to the curtained dhoolies, which 
had passed and repassed the barriers, upon which the 
editor launched his tongue. But Mahboob, as Chief 
Eunuch, knew the value of such information and cut it 
short with a sneer. 

” If that be all! quick! the pen, and I will sign.” 

A bystander, also in the Moghul dress, laughed 
broadly at the well-worn inuendo on the possibilities of 
curtained dhoolies in intrigue. ‘‘ Thou art right, Mah- 
boob,” he said, “ God only knows.” 

“ His own work,” chuckled the Keeper of Virtue. 
“ And the Devil made most of the women here. Now 
pigs! Canst not start? Am I to be kept here all day? ” 

As the litter went swaying out between the presented 
arms of the sentries, the white chrysalis of a Pathan veil 
stepped lamely down into the causeway. “ That, see- 
ing there is no news, will be something to amuse the 
Queen withal,” came the sharp voice. 

“ There may be news enough, when that fat pig re- 
turns, to make it hard to amuse thy mistress, Mussamat 
Hafzan,” suggested another bystander. 

The chrysalis paused. “My mistress! Nay, sahib! 
Hafzan is that to herself only. I am for no one save 


88 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


myself. I carry news, and the more the better for my 
trade. Yet I have not had a real good day for gifts of 
gratitude from my hearers, since Prince h ukrud-deen, 
the heir-apparent, died.” There was a reckless cynicism 
in her voice, and he of the Moghul dress broke in hotly. 

“ Was poisoned, thou meanest, by ” 

Hafzan’s shrill laugh rang through the arches. 

“No names, Mirza sahib, no names! And ’tis no 
news surely to have folk poisoned in the fort; as thou 
wouldst know ere long, may be, if Hafzan were spiteful. 
But I name no names — not I ! I carry news, that is all.” 

So, with a limp, showing that the woman within was a 
cripple, the formless figure passed along the tunnel 
through the inner barrier, and so across the wide court- 
yard where the public hall of audience stood blocking 
the eastern end. It was a massive, square, one-storied 
building, with a remorseless look in its plain expanse of 
dull red stone, pierced by toothed arches which yawned 
darkly into a redder gloom, like monstrous mouths 
agape for victims. Past this, with its high-set fretted 
marble baldachin showing dimly against the end wall — 
whence a locked wicket gave sole entrance from the 
palace to this seat of justice or injustice — the Pathan 
veil flitted like a ghost; so, through a narrow passage 
guarded by the King’s own body-guard, into a different 
world; a cool breezy world of white and gold and blue, 
clasping a garden set with flowers and fruit. Blue sky, 
white marble colonnades, and golden domes vaulting 
and zoning the burnished leaves of the orange trees, 
where the green fruit hung like emeralds above a tangle 
of roses and marigolds, chrysanthemums and crimson 
amaranth. Hafzan paused among them for a second; 
then, all unchallenged by any, passed on up the steps of 
the marble platform, which lies between the Baths, and 
the Private Hall of Audience. That marvelous building 
where the legend, cunningly circled into the decorations, 
still tells the visitor again and again that, “ If earth holds 
a haven of bliss. It is this, it is this, it is this.” 

Here, on the platform, Hafzan paused again to look 
over the low parapet. The wide eastern plains stretched 
away to the pale blue horizon before her, and the curv- 


IN THE PALACE. 


. 89 

ing river lay at her feet edging the high bank, faced with 
stone, which forms the eastern defense of the palace-fort. 
Thus the levels within touch the very top of the wall; 
so that the domes, and colonnades, and green gardens, 
when seen from the opposite side of the stream, cut clear 
upon the sky. Like a castle in the air at all times; but 
in the sunsettings, when it shows in shades of pale lilac, 
with the huge dome of the great mosque, bulging like 
a big bubble into the golden light behind it, as a veritable 
Palace of Dreams. 

She looked northward, first; along the sheer face of 
the rosy retaining wall to its 'trend westward at the 
Queen’s favorite bastion, which was crowned by a bal- 
conied summer-house overhanging the moat between the 
fort itself and the isolated citadel of Selimgarh; which, 
jutting out into the river, partially hid the bridge of 
boats spanning the stream beyond. Then she looked 
southward. Here was the sheer face of rosy wall again, 
but it was crowned, close at hand, by the colonnade and 
projecting eaves of the Private Hall of Audience. Fur- 
ther on it was broken by the carved corbeilles of the 
King’s balcony, and it ended abruptly at a sudden east- 
ward turn of the river, so giving a view of rolling rocky 
hillocks sweeping up to the horizon where, faint and far 
like a spear-point, the column of the Ktilb showed on a 
clear day. The Kulb! that splendid promise, never ful- 
filled. That first minaret of the great mosque that never 
was, and never will be built; symbol of the undying 
dream of Mohammedan supremacy that never came, 
that never can come to pass. 

As she paused, a troop of women laden with cosmetics 
and combs and quaint baskets containing endless aids to 
beauty, came shuffling out of the baths, gossiping and 
chattering shrilly, and clanking heavy anklets as they 
came. And with them, a heavy perfumed steam sug- 
gestive of warm indolence, luxury, sensuality, passed 
out into the garden. 

“What! done already?’^ called HMzan in surprise. 

“Already!” echoed a bold-faced trollop pertly, '' Ari. 
sister. Art grown a loose-liver? Sure this is Friday, 
and the King, good man, bathes apart, religiously! So 


90 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


we be religious too, matching his humor. That is the 
way with us women.” 

An answering giggle met the sally. 

“ Thou art an impudent hussy, Golod! ” said HMzan 
angrily. “ And the Queen — where is she? ” 

“ In the mosque praying for patience — in the summer- 
house playing games — in the King’s room coaxing him 
to belief — in the vestibule feeding her son with lollipops 
— he likes them big, and sweet, and lively, and of his own 
choosing, does the prince, as I know to my cost.” Here 
a general titter broke in on the unabashed recital. 

Loh! leave Hafzan to find out what the Queen does 
elsewhere,” suggested another voice. “We speak not 
of such things.” 

“ Then speak lower of others,” retorted Hafzan. 
“ Walls have echoes, sister, and thy mistress would fare 
no better than others if thy talk reached Zeenut Maihl’s 
ears.” 

“Tell her, spy! if thou wilt,” replied the woman care- 
lessly. “We have friends on our side now, as thou 
mayst understand mayhap ere nightfall, when the answer 
comes.” 

Hafzan laughed. “ Thou hast more faith in friends 
than I. Loh! I trust none within these four walls. And 
out of them but few.” 

So saying she limped back into the garden, giving a 
glance as she passed it into the Pearl Mosque, which 
showed like a carven snowdrift against the blue of the 
sky, the green of the trees. Finding none there, she 
went straight to the Queen’s favorite summer-house on 
the northern bastion. 

It was a curious fatality which made Zeenut Maihl 
choose it, since all her arts, all her cunning, could scarcely 
have told her that it would ere long be a watch-tower, 
whence the chance of success or failure could be counted. 
For the white road beyond the bridge of boats, and 
trending eastward to the packed population of Oude, 
to Lucknow, to all that remained of the vitality in the 
Mohammedan dream, was to be ere long like a living, 
growing branch to which she, the spider, hung by an 
invisible thread, spinning her cobwebs, seemingly in 
mid-air. 


IN THE PALACE, 


91 


“Hush!’’ The whispered monition made Hafzan 
pause in the screened archway till the game was over. It 
was a sort of dumb-crambo, and a most outrageous 
double entendre had just brought a smile to the broad 
heavy face of a woman who lay among cushions in the 
alcoved balcony. This was Zeenul Maihl, who for nearly 
twenty years had kept her hold upon the King, despite 
endless rivals. She was dark-complexioned, small-eyed, 
with a curious lack of eyebrows which took from her even 
vivacity of expression. But it was a man with experience 
in many wives who remarked that favor is deceitful and 
beauty is vain ; he knew, no doubt, that in polygamy, the 
victory must go to the most unscrupulous fighter. Zee- 
nut Maihl, at any rate, secured hers by ever-recurring 
promises of another heir to her octogenarian husband; 
a flattery to which his other wives either could not or 
would not stoop. But the trick served the Queen’s pur- 
pose in more ways than one. Her oft-recurring disap- 
pointments could have but one cause : witchcraft. So on 
such occasions, with her paid priest, Hussan Askuri, say- 
ing prayers for those in extremis at her bedside, Zeenut 
Maihl’s enemies went down like nine-pins, and she rose 
from her bed of sickness with a board cleared of danger- 
ous rivalry. For none in the hot-bed of shams felt secure 
enough to get into grips with her. Ahsan-Oolah, the 
physician, might have; she had cried quarter from his 
keen fence before now; but he did not care to take the 
trouble. For he was a philosopher, content to let his 
world go to the devil its own way, so long as it did not 
interfere with his passionate greed of gold. And this 
master-passion being shared by Zeenut Maihl they 
hoisted the flag of ,truce for the most part against mutual 
spoliations. So the Queen played her game unmolested, 
as she played dumb-crambo ; at which her servants, sepa- 
rated like" their betters into cliques, tried to outdo each 
other. 

“ Wall! ’’ said the set, jubilant over the double entendre. 
“ That is the best to-day.” 

“ If you like it, a clod is a betel nut,” retorted the 
leader of another set. “ I’ll wager to beat it easily.” 

The Queen frowned. There was too much freedom in 
this speech of Fatma’s to suit her. 


92 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


“ And I to be the judge,” she said with a cruel smile. 
“ Fatma must be taught better manners.” 

Fatma — a woman older than the rest — salaamed 
calmly; and the fact made the other clique look at each 
other uneasily. What certainty gave her such confidence 
as she plucked a gray hair from her own head and placed 
it on the black velvet cushion which lay at the Queen's 
feet? 

“ That is my riddle,” she said. ” Let the world guess 
it, and honor the real giver of it.” 

What could it be? Even the Queen raised herself in 
curiosity; a sign in itself of commendation. 

“ Sure I know not,” she began musingly, when Fatma 
sprang to her feet in theatrical appeal. 

“Not so! Ornament of Palaces,” she cried. “This 
may puzzle the herd; it is plain to the mother of Princes. 
It lies too lowly now for recognition, but in its proper 

place ” She snatched the hair from the cushion, 

and, with a flourish, laid it on the head of a figure which 
appeared as if by magic behind her. A figure dressed 
as a young Moghul Prince, and wearing all the crown 
jewels. 

“ My son, Jewan! ” cried the Queen, starting angrily. 
And the adverse clique, taking their cue from her tone, 
shrieked modestly, and scrambled for their veils. 

Fatma salaamed to the very ground. 

“ No! Mother of Princes, ’tis but my riddle — the heir- 
apparent.” 

Zeenut Maihl paused, bewildered for an instant; then 
in the figure recognized the features of a favorite dancing 
girl, saw the pun, and laughed uproariously, delightedly. 
The English sentry on the drawbridge leading to Selim- 
gurh might have heard her had there been one; but 
within the last month the right to use the citadel as a 
private entry to the palace had been given to the King. 
It enabled him to cross the bridge of boats without the 
long circuit by the Calcutta gate of the city. 

“ A gold mohur for that to Fatma! ” she cried, “ and a 
post nearer my person. I need such wits sorely.” As 
she spoke she rose to her feet, the smiles fading from 
her face as she looked out along that white eastward 


IN THE PALACE. 


93 


Streak; for the jest had brought her back to earnest, to 
that mixture of personal ambition for her son and real 
patriotism for her country which kept her a restless in- 
triguer. “ I need men, too,” she muttered. “ Not disso- 
lute, idle weathercocks or doting old pantaloons! There 
are plenty of them yonder.” So she stood for a second, 
then turned like lightning on her attendants. “ What 
time ” she began, then seeing Hafzan, who had un- 

veiled at the door, she gave a cry of pleasure. ‘‘ ’Tis well 
thou hast come,” she said, beckoning to her, “ for thou 
must know God I if I were free to come and go, what could 

I not compass? But here, in this smothering veil ” 

She flung even the gauze apology for one which she 
wore from her, and stood with smooth, bare head, and 
fat, bare arms, her quaint little pigtail dangling down her 
broad back. Not a romantic figure truly, but one in its 
savage temper, strength, obstinacy, to be reckoned with. 
“ What time ” — she went on rapidly — “ does the King 
receive his initiates? ” 

‘‘ At five,” replied Hafzan. Seen without its veil, also, 
her figure showed more shrunk than ill-formed, and her 
pale, thin face would have been beautiful but for its look 
of permanent ill-health. “ The ceremony of saintship 
begins then.” 

“ Saints! ” echoed the Queen, with a hard laugh. “ I 
would make them saints and martyrs, too, were I free. 
Quick, woman! pen and ink! And stay! Fatma's puz- 
zle hath driven all else from iny head. What time was’t 
that Hussan Askuri was bidden to come?” 

“ The saintborn comes at four,” replied Hafzan cere- 
moniously, “ so as to leave leisure ere the Chief Eunuch’s 
return with the answer.” 

Zeenut Maihl’s face was a study. “ The answer! My 
answer lies there in Fatma’s riddle; take two gold mohurs 
for it, woman, it hath given me new life. Write, HMzan, 
to the chamberlain, that the disciples must pass the 
southern window of the King’s private room ere they 
leave the palace. And call my litter: I must see Hussan 
Askuri ere I meet him at the King’s.” 

An hour afterward, with bister marks below her eyes, 
and delicate hints of causeful, becoming languor in face 


94 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


and figure, she was waiting the King’s return from the 
latticed balcony overhanging the river, where he always 
spent the heats of the day, waiting in the cluster of small, 
dark rooms which lie behind it, on the other side of the 
marble fountain-set aqueduct which flows under a lace- 
like marble screen to the very steps of the Hall of 
Audience. 

“ Is all prepared? ” she asked anxiously, as a glint 
of light from a lifted curtain warned her of the King’s 
approach. 

“ All is prepared,” echoed a hollow, artificial voice. 
The speaker was a tall, heavily built man with long gray 
beard, big bushy gray eyebrows, and narrow forehead. 
A dangerous man, to judge by the mixed spirituality and 
sensuality in his face ; a man who could imagine evil, and 
make himself believe it good. It was Hussan Askuri, 
the priest and miracle-monger, who led the last of the 
Moghuls by the nose. It was not a difficult task, for 
Bahadur Shah, who came tottering across the intervening 
sunlit space, was but a poor creature. The first impres- 
sion he gave was of extreme old age. It was evident 
in the sparse hair, the high, hollow cheeks, the waxy skin, 
the purple glaze over the eyes. The next was of a feeble- 
ness beyond even his apparent years. He seemed fiber- 
less, mind and body. Yet released at the door of privacy, 
from the eunuch’s supporting hands, he ambled gayly 
enough to a seat, and exclaimed vivaciously: 

“A moment! A moment! good priest and physician. 
My mind first; my body after. The gift is on me. I 
feel it working, and the historian must write of me more 
as poet than king.” 

“ As the king of poets, sire,” suggested Hussan Askuri 
pompously. 

Bahadur Shah smiled fatuously. “Good! Good! I 
will weave that thought with mine into perfumed poesy.” 
He raised one slender hand for silence, and with the 
fingers of the other continued counting feet laboriously, 
until with a sigh of relief, he declaimed : 


“ Bahadur Shah, sure all the world will know it. 
Was poet more than king, yet king of poets.*' 


IN THE PALACE. 


95 


Zeenut Maihl gave a cry of admiration. “ Quick! 
Fir-sahib, quick! ” she exclaimed. “Such a gem must 
not be lost.'’ 

“ But ’tis yet to be polished,” began the King com- 
placently. 

“ That is the office of the scribe,” replied Hussan 
Askuri, as he drew out his ink-horn. He was by pro- 
fession an ornamental writer, and gained great influence 
with the old poetaster by gathering up the royal frag- 
ments and hiding their lameness amid magnificent curves 
and flourishes. 

“ And now. Fir-sahib,” continued the Queen, with a 
look of loving anxiety at her lord, “ for this strange 
ailment of which I spoke to you ” 

The King’s face lost its self-importance as if he had 
been suddenly recalled to unpleasant memory. “ ’Tis 
naught of import,” he said hastily. “ The Queen will 
have it I start and sweat of nights. But this is but the 
timorous dread of one in her condition. I am well 
enough.” 

“My lord. Fir-sahib, hath indeed renewed his youth 
through thy pious breathing of thy own life into his 
mouth — as time will show,” murmured the Queen with 
modest, downcast look. “ But last night he muttered 
in his sleep of enemies ” 

Bahadur Shah gave a gasp of dismay. “ Of enemies ! 
Nay! — did I truly? Thou didst not tell me this.” 

“ I would not distress my lord, till fear was over. 
Now that the pious priest, who hath the ear of the 
Almighty ” 

Hussan Askuri, who had stepped forward to gaze at 
the King, began to mutter prayers. “ ’Tis that cooling 
draught of Ahsan-Oolah’s stands in the way,” he gasped, 
his hands and face working as if he were in deadly con- 
flict with an unseen foe. “ No carnal remedy — Ah! God 
be praised! I see, I see! The eye of faith opens — Hai! 
venomous beast, I have you!” With these words he 
rushed to the King’s couch, and, scattering its cushions, 
held up at arm’s length a lizard. Held by the tail, it 
seemed in semi-darkness to writhe and wriggle. 

“ Oiiee! Umma! ” yelled the Great Moghul, shrinking 


96 


ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


to nothing in his seat, and using after his wont the 
woman s cry — sure sign of his habits. 

“hear not!” cried the priest. “The mutterings are 
stilled, the sweats dried! And thus will 1 deal also with 
those who sent it.” He flung his captive on the ground 
and stamped it under foot. 

“ Was it — was it a bis-cobra, think you? ” faltered the 
King. He had hold of Zeenut Maihl’s hand like a 
frightened child. The priest shook his head. “ It was 
no carnal creature,” he said in a hollow, chanting voice. 
“ It was an emissary of evil made helpless by prayer. 
Give Heaven the praise.” Bahadur Shah began on his 
creed promptly, but the priest frowned. 

“ Through his servant,” he went on. “ For day and 
night, night and day, I pray for the King. And I see 
visions, I dream dreams. Last night, while my lord 
muttered of enemies, Hussan Askuri saw a flood coming 
from the West, and on its topmost wave, upon a raft of 
faithful swords, as on a throne, sate ” 

“With due respect,” came voices from the curtained 
door. “ The disciples await initiation in the Hall of 
Audience.” 

Hussan Askuri and the Queen exchanged looks. The 
interruption was unwelcome, though strangely germane 
to the subject. 

“ I will hear thee finish the dream afterward,” fussed 
the King, rising in a bustle; for he prized his saintship 
next to his poetry. “ I must not keep my pupils from 
grace. Hast the kerchiefs ready, Zeenut? ” There was 
something almost touching in the confidence of his 
appeal to her. It was that of a child to its mother, cer- 
tain of what it demanded. 

“ All things are ready,” she replied tartly, with a mean- 
ing and vexed look at the miracle-monger; for they had 
meant to finish the dream before the initiation. 

“ A goodly choice,” said the royal saint, as he looked 
over the tiny silk squares, each embroidered with a text 
from the Koran, which she took out of a basket. “ But 
I need many, FiV-sahib. Folk come fast, of late, to have 
the way of virtue pointed by this poor hand. And 
thou hast more in the basket, I see, Zeenut, ready 
against ” 


IN- THE PALACE. 


91 


They are but begun,” put in the Queen, hastily cover- 
ing the basket. “ Nor will they, likely, be needed, since 
the leave season passes, and ’tis the soldiers who come 
most to be disciples to the. defender of their faith.” 

” I am the better pleased,” replied the King with edify- 
ing humility. ” This summer hath too tnany pupils as 
it is. Come! P/r-sahib, and support me through mine 
office with real saintship.” 

As the curtain fell behind them Zeenut Maihl crossed 
swiftly to the crushed lizard and raised it gingerly. 

” No carnal creature,” she repeated. It was not; only 
a deft piece of patchwork. Yet it, or something else, 
made her shiver as she dropped the tell-tale remains into 
the basket. This man Hussan Askuri sometimes seemed 
to her own superstition a saint, sometimes to her clear 
head a mere sinner. She was not quite certain of any- 
thing about him save that his delusions, his dreams, his 
miracles, suited her purpose equally, whether they were 
false or true. 

So she crossed over again to a marble lattice and 
perred through a convenient peephole toward the 
Audience Hall, which rose across an intervening stretch 
of platform in white shadow, and whiter light. She could 
not see or hear much; but enough to show her that 
everything was going on the same as usual. The disci- 
ples, most of them in full uniform, went up and down the 
steps calmly, and the wordy exordium on the cardinal 
virtues went on and on. How different it might be, she 
thought, if she had the voice. She would rouse more 
than those faint “ Wah! Wdhs.” She would make the 
fire come to nien’s eyes. In a sort of pet with her own 
helplessness, she moved away and so, through another 
room, went to stand at another lattice. It looked south 
over a strip of garden, and there was an open square 
left in the tracery through which a face might look, a 
hand might pass. And as she stood she counted the re- 
maining kerchiefs in the basket she still held. They were 
all of bright green silk and bore the same lettering. It 
was the Great Cry: “ Dcen! Decn! Fufteh Mohammed!” 
As dangerous a woman this, as Hussan Askuri was a 
man; as dangerous, both of them, to peaceful life, as the 


98 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


fabled bis-cobra, at the idea of which the foolish old King 
had cried, “ Ouk, Umma! ” like any woman. 

And now at last that wordy exordium must be over, 
for, along the garden path, came the clank of accouter- 
ments. Zeenut Maihl’s listless figure .seem galvanized 
to sudden life, there was a flutter of green at the open 
square, and her voice followed the shower of silk. 

“ These banners from the Defender to his soldiers.” 

But as she spoke, a stir of excitement, a subdued mur- 
mur of expectation reached her ear from outside, and, 
leaning forward, she caught a glimpse of a swinging lit- 
ter coming along the path. Mahboob returned already! 
Vexatious, indeed, when she had turned and planned 
everything so as to be sure of having the King in her 
apartments when the answer arrived. None others 
would know it before she did — unless! — the thought ob- 
literated all others, and she flew back to the further 
lattice. The King, returning from the initiation, had 
paused in the middle of the platform at the sight of the 
approaching litter, and his courtiers, as if by instinct, had 
grouped themselves round him, leaving him the central 
figure. The cruel sunlight streamed down on the tawdry 
court, on the worn-out old man. 

It seemed interminable to the woman behind the lat- 
tice, that pause while the fat eunuch was helped from his 
litter. She could have screamed to him for the answer, 
could have had at his fat carcass with her hands for its 
slowness. But the old King had better blood in his 
veins. He stood quietly, his tawdry court around him; 
behind him the marble, and gold, and mosaics of his 
ancestors. 

‘‘ What news, slave? ” he asked boldly. 

“ None, Light of the Faithful,” replied the Chief 
Eunuch. 

“ None! ” The semi-circle closed in a little, every face 
full of disappointed curiosity. 

“ I have a letter for the Lord of the World with me. 
Its substance is this. The Sirkar will recognize no heir. 
During the lifetime of our Great Master, whose life be 
prolonged forever, .the Sirkar will make no promise of 
any kind, either to his majesty, or to any other member 


IN THE CITY, 99 

of the royal family. It is to remain as if there were no 
succession.” 

No succession! Above the sudden murmur of univer- 
sal surprise and dissent, a woman’s cry of inarticulate 
rage came from behind the lattice. The King turned to- 
ward the sound instinctively. “ I must to the Queen,” 
he murmured helplessly, “ I must to the Queen.” 


CHAPTER IL 

IN THE CITY. 

“ Come, beauty, rare, divine. 

Thy lover like a vine 
With tendril arms entwine ; 

Lay rose red lips to mine, 

Bewildering as wine.” 

The song came in little insistent trills and quaverings, 
and quaint recurring cadences, which matched the insist- 
ency of the rhymes. The singer was a young man of 
aboht three-and-twenty, and as he sang, seated on a 
Persian rug on the top of a roof, he played an elaborate 
symphony of trills and cadences to match upon a tink- 
ling sarin gi. He was small, slight, with a bright, viva- 
cious face, smooth shaven, save for a thin mustache 
trimmed into a faint fine fringe. His costume marked 
him as a dandy of the first water, and he smelled horribly 
of musk. 

The roof on which he sat was a secluded roof, pro- 
tected from view, even from other roofs, by high latticed 
walls; its only connection with the world below it being 
by a dizzy brick ladder of a stair climbing down fearlessly 
from one corner. Across the further end stretched a 
sort of veranda, inclosed by lattice and screens. But 
the middle arch being open showed a blue and white 
striped carpet, and a low reed stool. Nothing more. 
But a sweet voice came from its unseen corner. 

“ Art not ashamed, Abool, to come to my discreet 
house among godly folk and sing lewd songs? Will 


lOO 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


they not think ill of me? And if thou comest drunken 
horribly with wine, as thou didst last week, claiming 
audience of me, thine aunt, not all that title will save 
me from aspersion. And if I lose this calm retreat, 
whither shall poor Newasi go?” 

“Nay, kind one!” cried Prince Abool-Bukr, “that 
shall never be.” So saying, he cast away the tinkling 
saringi and from the litter of musical instruments around 
him laid impulsive hands on a long-necked fiddle with 
a ’cello tone in it. “ I would sing psalms to please mine 
aunt,” he went on in reckless gayety, “ but that I know 
none. Will pious Saadi suit your sober neighbors, since 
lovelorn Hafiz shocks them? But no! I can never 
stomach his sentimental sanctity, so back we go to the 
wisest of all poets.” 

The high, thin tenor ran on without a break into 
a minor key, and a stanza of the Great Tentmakers. And 
as it quivered and quavered over the illusion of life, a 
woman’s figure came to lean against the central arch, 
and look down on the singer with kindly eyes. 

They were the most beautiful eyes in the world. 
Such is the consensus of opinion among all who ever saw 
them. Judged, indeed, by this standard, the Princess 
Farkhoonda Zamani, alias Newasi Begum, the widow of 
one of the King’s younger sons, must have had that mys- 
terious charm which is beyond beauty. But she was 
beautiful also, though smallpox had left its marks upon 
her. Chiefly, however, by a thickening of the skin, 
which brought an opaque pallor, giving her oval face 
a look of carved ivory. In truth, this memento of the 
past tragedy, which at the age of thirteen had brought 
her, the half-wedded bride, to death’s door, and sent her 
fifteen-year-old bridegroom from the festival to the 
grave, enhanced, rather than detracted from her beauty. 
Her lips were reddened after the fashion of court women, 
her short-sighted hazel eyes were heavily blackened with 
antimony; but she wore no jewels, and her graceful, 
sweeping Delhi dress was of deadest, purest white, em- 
broidered in finest needlework round hems and seams, 
and relieved only by the lighter folds of her white, lace- 
like veil. For she had forsworn colors when she fled from 


IN THE CITY. 


lOI 


court-life and its many intrigues for an alliance with the 
charming widow; and, on the plea of a call to a religious 
and celibate life, had taken up her abode in the Mufti’s 
Alley. This was a secluded little lane off the bazaar, 
which lies to the south of the Jumma Mosque, where a 
score or two of the Mohammedan families connected 
with the late chief magistrate of the city lived, decently, 
respectably, respectedly. To do this, having sometimes 
to close the gate at the entrance of the alley, and so shut 
out the wicked world around them. But that whole 
quarter of the city held many such learned, well-born, 
well-doing folk. Hussan Askari’s house lay within a 
stone’s throw of the Mufti’s Alley; Ahsan-Oolah’s not 
far off, and, all about, rose tall, windpwless buildings, 
standing sentinel blindly over the naughtiness around 
them; but they had eyes within, and ears also. So the 
hands belonging to them were held up in horror over the 
doings of the survival, and — despite race and religion — 
an inevitably reluctant, yet inevitably firm adherence 
was given to civilization. Even the womenfolk on the 
high roofs knew something of the mysterious woman 
across the sea, who reigned over the Huzoors and made 
them pitiful to women. And Farkhoonda Zamani 
read the London news, with great interest, in the news- 
paper which Abool-Bukr used to bring her regularly. 
Hers was the highest roof of all, save one at the back of 
her veranda room; so close to it indeed that the same 
necm tree touched both. 

It was not a quarter, therefore, in which the leader of 
the fastest set in the palace might have been expected 
to be a constant visitor. But he was. And the decorous 
alley put up with his songs patiently. Partly, no doubt, 
for his aunt’s sake; more for his own charm of manner, 
which always gained him a consideration better men 
might have lacked. Being the late heir-apparent’s eld- 
est son, he was certain of succeeding to the throne if he 
outlived all his uncles; for the claims of the elder genera- 
tion are, by Moghul law, paramount over those of the 
younger. Now, the inevitable harking back to the eld- 
est branch, after years of power enjoyed by the junior 
ones, which this plan necessitates, being responsible for 


102 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


half the wars and murders which mark an Indian succes- 
sion, some of these learned progressive folk admitted 
tentatively that the Western plan was better; and that if 
Prince Abool-Bukr were only other than he was, he 
might as well succeed now as later on. 

The idea roused a. like ambition in the young idler, 
now and again, but as a rule he was content to be the best 
musician in Delhi, the boldest gambler, the fastest liver. 
Yet through all, he kept his hold on one kind woman’s 
hand; and those who knew the prince and princess 
have never a word to say against the friendship which 
led to that singing of Omar Khayyam upon the latticed 
roof. 

“ Life could be better than that for thee, nephew, didst 
thou but choose,” said her soft voice, interrupting the 
cynicism, while her delicate fingers, touching the singer’s 
shoulder as if in reproof, lingered there tenderly. He 
bent his smooth cheek impulsively to caress the hand so 
close to it, with a frank, boyish action. The next mo- 
ment, however, he had started to his feet; the minor 
tone changed to a dance measure, then ended in a wild 
discord, and a wilder laugh. Her use of the word 
nephew was apt to rouse his recklessness, for she was 
but a month or two older than he. 

“ Thou canst not make me other than I was born ” 

he began; but she interrupted him quickly. 

“ Thou wast born of good parts enough, God knows.” 

“ But my father deemed me fool, therefore I was 
brought up in a stable, mine aunt; and sang in brothels 
ere I knew what the word meant. So ’tis sheer waste 
time to interview my scandalized relations as thou dost, 
and beg them to take me serious. By all the courtesans 
in the Thunbi Bazaar, Newasi, I take not myself so. Nor 
am I worse than the holy, pious aunt: I take paradise 
now, and leave hell to the last. They choose the other 
way. And make a better bargain for pleasure than I, 
seeing that the astrologers give me a short life, a bloodv 
death.”^ 

Newasi caught her hand back to another resting place 
above her heart. “A — a bloody death!” she echoed; 
“ who — who told the lie? ” 


m THE CITY. 


163 

Prince Abool-Bukr shook his head with a kindly smile. 
“ Oh! heed it not, kind lady. Such is the fashion with 
soothsayers nowadays. The heavens are black with 
portents. Someone’s cow hath three calves, someone’s 
child hath ten noses and a tail. Fire hath come from 
heaven — thou thyself didst tell me some such wind- 
sucker’s tale — or from hell more likely ” 

“ Nay! but it is true,” she interrupted eagerly; “ I had 
it from the milkwoman, who comes from the village 
where the suttee ” 

” The mouse began to gnaw the rope. The rope 

began to bend the ox. The ox began ” hummed 

the prince irreverently. 

Newasi stamped her foot. “ But it is true, scoffer! 
There is a festival of it to-day in some idol temple — may 
it be defiled! The widow" would have burned, after sin- 
ful custom, but was prevented by the Huzoors. And 
rightly. Yet, God knows — seeing the poor soul had to 
burn sometime through being an idolater — they might 
have let her burn with her love ” 

Abool laughed softly. “ And yet thou wilt have 
naught of Hafiz — Hafiz the love-lorn! Verily, Newasi, 
thou art true woman.” 

She ignored the interruption. “ So being hindered 
she went to Benares, and there this fire fell on her 
through prayer, and burned hands and feet ” 

“ But not her face,” cried Prince Abool, thrumming 
the muted strings and making them sound like a tom- 
tom. ^“I’ll wager my best pigeon, not her face, if she 
be a good-looking wench ! And since fire follows on 
other things besides prayer, she was a fool not to get 
it, like me, through pleasure instead. To burn a virgin! 
What a dreary tale! Look not so shocked, Newasi! a 
man must enjoy these presents, when folk around him 
waste half the time in dreaming of a future — of some- 
thing better to come — as thou dost ” He paused, 

and a soft eager ring came to his voice. “ If thou 
couldst only forget all that — forget who I might be in 
the years to come — forget what thou wouldst have been 
had my respected uncle not preferred peace to pleasure — 
for it never came to pass, remember, it never came to pass 


1 04 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

— then we two, you and I ” He paused again, per- 

haps at the sudden shrinking in her eyes, and gave a 
restless laugh. “ As ’tis, the present must suffice,” he 
added lightly, “ and even so thou dost mourn for what 1 
might be if the grace of God took me unawares. Thou 
hast caught the dreaming trick, mayhap, from the Prince 
of Dreamers yonder.” 

He moved over to the outer parapet and waved his 
hand toward Hussan Askuri’s house. Then his vagrant 
attention turned swiftly to something which he could 
see in a peep of bazaar visible from this new point of 
view. 

“ Three, four, five trays of sweetstuffs! and one of milk 
and butter,” he cried eagerly, “ and by my corn-mer- 
chant's bill — which I must pay soon or starve — the 
carriers are palace folk! Is there, by chance, a marriage 
in the clan? Why didst not tell me before, Newasi? then 
I could have gone as musician and earned a few rupees.” 

He gave a flourish of his bow, so drawing forth a 
lugubrious wail from the long-necked fiddle. 

“ No marriage that I wot of,” she replied, smiling 
fondly over his heedless gayety. “ The trays will be go- 
ing to the Pfr-sahib’s house. They have gone every 
Thursday these few weeks past, ever since the Queen took 
ill on hearing the answer about the heirship. She vowed 
it then every week, so that the holy man’s pray.er might 
bring success to our cousin of Persia in this war. God 
save the very dust of it from the winds of misfortune 
so long as dust and wind exist,” she added piously. 

Prince Abool-Bukr turned round on her sharply with 
anxiety in his face. 

“ So ! Thou too canst quote the proclamation like 
other fools — a fool’s message to other fools. Where 
didst thou see it? ” 

Newasi looked at him disdainfully. “ Can I not read, 
nephew, and are there many in Delhi as heedless as thou? 
Why, even the Mufti’s people discuss such things.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “Ay! they will talk. 
Gossip hath a double tongue and wings too, nowadays. 
In old time the first tellers of a tale had half forgot it, ere 


hV THE CITY. 


105 

the last hearer heard it; now the whole world is agog 
in half an hour. But it means naught. Even his heir- 
ship. Who cares in Delhi? None! — out of the palace, 
none! Not even I. Yet mischief may come of it; so 
have naught to do with dreamings, Newasi, if only for 
my sake. Remember the old saw, ‘ Weevils are ground 
with the corn.’ ” 

“ Thou canst scarce call thyself that, Abool, and thou 
so near the throne,” she said, still more coldly. 

“ Have me what pleaseth thee, kind one,” he replied, 
a trifle impatiently; “ but remember also that ‘ the body 
is slapped in the killing of mosquitoes.’ ” Then, sud- 
denly, an odd change came to his mobile face. It grew 
strained, haggard; his voice had a growing tremor in it. 
” Lo! I tell thee, Newasi, that Sheeah woman, Zeenut 
Maihl, in her plots for that young fool, her son, will hang 
the lot of us. I swear I feel a rope around my neck each 
time I think of her. I who only want to be let live as I 
like — not to die before my time — die and lose all the love 
and the laughter; die mayhap in the sunlight; die when 
there is no need; I seem to see it — the sunlight — and I 
helpless — helpless! ” 

He hid his face in his shuddering hands as if to shut 
out some sight before his very eyes. 

“Abool! Abool! What is’t, dear? Look not so 
strange,” she cried, stretching out her hand toward him, 
yet standing aloof as if in vague alarm. Her voice 
seemed to bring him back to realities ; he looked up with 
a reckless laugh. 

“ ’Tis the wine does it,” he said. “ If I lived sober — 
with thee, mine aunt — these terrors would not come. 
Nay! be not frightened. Hanging is a bloodless death, 
and that would confound the soothsayer; so it cuts both 
ways. And now, since I must have more wine or weep, 
I will leave thee, Newasi.” 

“ For the bazaar? ” she asked reproachfully. 

“For life and laughter. Lo! Newasi, thou thyself 
wouldst laugh at those new-come Bunjarah folk I told 
thee of, who imitate the sahibs so well. But for their 
eyes,” here he nodded gayly to someone below, “they 


io6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

should get one of Mufti’s folk to play,” he added, his 
attention as usual following the first lead. “ Saw you 
ever such blue ones as the boy has yonder? ” 

Newasi, drawing her veil tighter, stepped close to 
his side and peered gingerly. 

“ His sister’s are as blue, his cousin’s also. It runs in 
the blood, they say. I cannot like them. Dost thou 
not prefer the dark also? ” 

She raised hers to his innocently enough, then shrank 
back from the sudden passion of admiration she saw blaz- 
ing in them. Shrank so that her arm touched his no 
longer. The action checked him, made him savage. 

“ I like black ones best,” he said insolently; “ big, black, 
staring eyes such as my mother swears my betrothed 
has to perfection. Thou hast not seen her yet, Newasi; 
so thou canst keep me company in imagining them lan- 
guishing with love. They will not have to languish long 
for — hast thou heard it? The King hath fixed the wed- 
ding.” He paused, then added in a low, cruel voice, 
“ Art glad, Newasi? ” 

But her temper could be roused too, and her heart had 
beat in answer to his look in a way which ended calm. 
“ Ay ! It will stop this farce of coming thither for study 
and learning — as to-day — without a line scanned.” 

“ Thou dost study enough for both, as thou art virtu- 
ous enough for both,” he retorted. “ I am but flesh and 
blood, and my small brain will hold no more than it can 
gather from bazaar tongues.” 

“ Of lies, doubtless.” 

“ Lies if thou wilt. But they fill the mind as easily as 
truth, and fit facts better. As the lie the courtesans tell of 
my coming hither fits fact better than thy reason. Dost 
know it? Shall I tell it thee? ” 

“ Yea! tell it me,” she answered swiftly, her whole face 
ablaze with anger, pride, resentment. His matched it. 
but with a vast affection and admiration added which 
increased his excitement. “ The lie, did I say? ” he 
echoed, “ nay, the truth. For why do I come? Why 
dost let me come? Answer me in truth?” There was 
an instant’s silence, then he went on recklessly; What 
need to ask? We both know. And why, in God’s name, 


m THE CITY. 


107 


having come — come to see thy soft eyes, hear thy soft 
voice, know thy soft heart, do I go away again like a 
fool? I who take pleasure elsewhere as I choose. I will 
be a fool no longer. Nay! do not struggle. I will but 
force thee to the truth. I will not even kiss thee — God 
knows there are women and to spare for that — there 

is but one woman whom Abool-Bukr cares to ” he 

broke off, flung the hands he had seized away from him 
with a muttered curse, and stepped back from her, calming 
himself with an effort. “ That comes of making Abool- 
Bukr in earnest for once. Did I not warn thee it was not 
wise?” he said, looking at her almost reproachfully, as 
she stood trying to be calm also, trying to hide the beat- 
ing of her heart. 

” ’Tis not wise, for sure, to speak foolishness,” she 
murmured, attempting unconsciousness. “ Yet do I 
not understand ” 

He shook his delicate hand in derisive denial. “ Why, 
the Princess Farkhoonda refuses to marry! Nay, 
Newasi, we are two fools for our pains. That is God’s 
truth between us. So now for lies in the bazaar.” 

” Peace go with thee.” There was a sudden regret, 
almost a wistful entreaty, in the farewell she sent after 
him. There was none in his reply, given with a back- 
ward look as his gay figure went downward dizzily. 
“ Nay! Peace stays ever with thee.” 

It was true. Those other women of whom he had 
spoken gave him kisses galore, but this one? It was a 
refinement of sensuality, in a way, to go as he had come. 
But Newasi went back to her books with a sigh, telling 
herself that her despondency was due to Abool’s hope- 
less lack of ambition. If he would only show his 
natural parts, only let these new rulers see that he had 
the makings of a king in him! As for the other foolish- 
ness, if the old King would give his consent — if it were 
made clear that she was not really She pulled her- 

self up with a start, said a prayer or two, and went on 
with The Mirror of Good Behavior, through which she was 
wading diligently. The writer of it had not been a 
beautiful woman, widowed before she was a wife, but his 
ideals were high. 


ON TllE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


loS 

Abool-Bukr meanwhile was already in a house with a 
wooden balcony. There were many such in the Thunbi 
Bazaar, giving it an airiness, a cleanliness, a neatness it 
would otherwise have lacked. But Gul-anari’s was the 
biggest, the most patronized; not only for the tired 
heaas which looked out unblushingly from it, but for 
the news and gossip always to be had there. The 
lounging crowds looked up and asked for it, as they, 
drifted backward and forward aimlessly, indifferently, 
among the fighting quails in their hooded cages, the 
dogs snarling in the filth of the gutters, while a mingled 
scent of musk, and drains, and humanity steamed 
through the hot sunshine. Sometimes a corpse lay in 
the very roadway awaiting burial, but it provoked no 
more notice than a passing remark that Nargeeza or 
Yasmeena had been a good one while she lasted. For 
there was a hideous, horrible lack of humanity about 
the Thunbi Bazaar; even in the very women themselves, 
with their foreheads narrowed by plastered hair to a 
mere wedge above a bar of continuous eyebrow, their 
lips crimsoned in unnatural curves, their teeth reddened 
with pan or studded with gold wire, their figures stiff- 
ened to artificial prominence. It was as if humanity, 
tired of its own beauty, sought the lack of it as a stimu-. 
lant to jaded sensuality. 

“Allah! the old stale stories,” yawned Gul-anari from 
the broad sheet of native newspaper whence, between the 
intervals of some of Prince Abool-Bukr’s worst songs, 
she had been reading extracts to her illiterate clients; 
that being a recognized attraction in her trade. “ Per- 
sia! Persia! nothing but Persia! Who cares for it? I 
dare swear none. Not even the woman Zeenut herself, 
for all her pretense of sympathy with Sheeahs, who ” 

“Have a care, mistress!” interrupted an arrogant 
looking man, who showed the peaked Afghan cap below 
a regimental turban. He was a sergeant in a Pathan 
company of the native troops cantoned outside Delhi 
on the Ridge, and had been bickering all the afternoon 
with a Rajpoot of the 38th N. I., who had ousted him in 
his hostess’ easy affections, being therefore in an evil 


IN' THE CITY. 


ic>9 

temper, ready to take offense at a word. “ I am of the 
north — a Sheeah myself, and care not to hear them mis- 
called. And I have those who would back me,” he con- 
tinued, glaring at the Rajpoot, who sat in the place of 
honor beside the stout siren; “for yonder in the cor- 
ner is another hill-tiger.” He pointed to a man who had 
just thanked one of the girls in Pushtoo for a glass of 
sherbet she handed him. 

“ Hill-cat, rather! ” giggled Gul-anari. “ He brought 
me this one, but yesterday, from a caravan new-come to 
the serai,” — she stroked the long fur of a Persian 
kitten on her lap, — “ and when I asked for news could 
not give them. He scarce knew enough Urdu for the 
settling of prices.” 

A coarse joke from the Rajpoot, suggesting that he 
had found few difficulties of that sort in the Thunbi 
Bazaar, made the sergeant scowl still more and swear 
that he would get Mistress Gul-anari the news for mere 
love. Whereat he called over, in Pushtoo, to the man 
in the corner, who, however, took no notice. 

“ He is as deaf as a lizard! ” giggled Gul-anari, enjoy- 
ing the rejected one’s discomfiture. “ Get my friend 
the corporal here to yell at him for thee, sergeant. His 
voice goes further than thine! ” 

The favored Rajpoot squeezed the fat hand nearest to 
him. “ Go up and pluck him by the beard,” he sug- 
gested vaingloriously, “ then we might see a Pathan 
fight for once.” 

“ Thou wouldst see a fair one, which is more than thou 
canst among thine own people.” 

“Peace! Peace!” cried the courtesan, smiling to 
see both men look round for a weapon. “ I’ll have no 
bloodshed here. Keep that for the future.” She dwelt 
on tne last word meaningly, and it seemed to have a 
soothing effect, for the sepoys contented themselves 
with scowls again. 

“The future?” echoed a graybeard who had been 
drinking cinnamon tea calmly. “ God knows there will 
be wars enough in it. Didst hear, Meean sahib? I 
have it on authority — that Jam Larnce is to give Pesha- 


110 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


wur to Dost Mohammed and take Rajpootana instead. 
Take it as Oude was taken and Sambalpore, and Jhansi, 
and all the others.” 

” Even so,” assented a quiet looking man in spec- 
tacles. “ When the last La^sahib went, he got much 
praise for having taken five kingdoms and given them to 
the Queen. The new one was told he must give more. 
This begins it.” 

” Let us see what we Rajpoots say first,” cried the' 
corporal fiercely. “ ’Tis we have fought the Sirka/s 
battles, and we are not sheep to be driven against our 
own.” 

Gul-anari leered admiringly at her new lover. “ Nay ! 
the Rajpoots are men! and ’twas his regiment, my mas- 
ters, who refused to fight over the sea, saying it was not 
in the bond. Ay! and gained their point.” 

“ That drop has gone over the sea itself,” sneered a 
third soldier. ” The bond is altered now. Go we must, 
or be dismissed. The Thakoor-;V^ would not be so bold 
now, I warrant.” 

The Rajpoot twirled his mustache to his very eyes 
and cocked his turban awry. 

“ Ay, would I ! and more, if they dare touch our 
privilege.” 

Gul-anari leered again, rousing the Pathan sergeant to 
mutter curses, and — as if to change the subject — cross 
over to the man in the comer, lay insolent hands on his 
shoulder, and shout a question in his ear. The man 
turned, met the arrogant eyes bent on him calmly, and 
with both hands salaamed profusely but slowly with a 
sort of measured rhythm. Apparently he had not 
caught the words and was deprecating impatience. His 
hands were fine hands, slender, well-shaped, and he 
wore a metal ring on the seal-finger. It caught the light 
as he salaamed. 

“ Louder, man, louder! ” gibed the corporal. But 
the sergeant did not repeat the question; he stood look- 
ing at the upturned face awaiting an answer. 

“ Maybe he is Belooch, his speech not mine,” he said 
suddenly, yet with a strange lack of curiosity in his tone. 
There was a faint quiver, as if some strain were over in 


IN THE CITY, 


III 


the face below, and the silence was broken by a rapid 
sentence. 

“ Yea! Belooch! ” he went on in a still more satisfied 
tone, “ I know it by the twang. So there is small use in 
bursting my lungs.” 

Here Prince Abool-Bukr, who had been dozing 
tipsily, his head against his fiddle, woke, and caught the 
last words. “ Ay, burst ! burst like the royal kettle-drums 
of mine ancestors. Yet will I do my poor best to amuse 
the company and — and instruct them in virtue.” 
Whereupon, with much maudlin emotion, he thrummed 
and thrilled through a lament on the fallen fortunes of 
the Moghuls written by that King of Poets his Grand- 
papa. Being diffuse and didactic, it was met with 
acclamations, and Abool, being beyond the stage of 
discrimination, was going on to give an encore of a 
very different nature, when a wild clashing of cymbals 
and hooting of conches in the bazaar below sent every- 
one to the balcony. Everyone save Abool, who, de- 
prived of his audience, dozed off against his fiddle again, 
and the man from the corner who, as he took advantage 
of the diversion to escape, looked down at the hand- 
some drunken face as he passed it and muttered, “ Poor 
devil! He rode honest enough always.” Then the 
Rajpoot’s arrogant voice rising from the crush on the 
balcony, he paused a second in order to listen — that 
being his trade. 

“ ’Tis the holy Hindu widow to whom God sent fire 
on her way to the festival. A saint indeed! I know 
her brother, one Soma, a Yadubansi Rajpoot in the nth, 
new-come to Meerut.” 

The clashings and brayings were luckily loud enough 
to hide an irrepressible exclamation from the man be- 
hind. The next instant he was halfway down the dark 
stairs, tearing off cap, turban, beard, and pausing at the 
darkest corner to roll his baggy northern drawers out 
of sight, and turn his woolen green shawl inside out, thus 
disclosing a cotton lining of ascetic ochre tint. It was 
the work of a second, for Jim^ Douglas had been an apt 
pupil. So, with a smear of ashes from one pocket, a 
dab of turmeric and vermilion from another — put on as 


1 12 ON T/IE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

he finished the stairs — he emerged into the street dis- 
guised as a mendicant; the refuge of fools, as Tiddu had 
called it. The easiest, however, to assume at an instant’s 
notice; and in this case the best for the procession 
Jim Douglas meant to join. Careless and hurried 
though his get-up was, he set the very thought of de- 
tection from him as he edged his way among the stream- 
ing crowd. For in that, so he told himself, lay the 
Mysterious Gift. To be, even in your inmost thoughts, 
the personality you assumed was the secret. Somehow 
or another it impressed those around you, and even if a 
challenge came there was no danger if the challenger 
could be isolated — brought close, as it were, to your own 
certainty. To this, so it seemed to him — the many- 
faced one vehemently protesting — came all Tiddu ’s 
mysterious instructions, which nevertheless he followed 
religiously. For, be they what they might, they had 
never failed him during the six months, save once, when, 
watching a horse-race, he had lost or rather recovered 
himself in the keen interest it awakened. Then his 
neighbors had edged from him and stared, and he had 
been forced into slipping away and changing his person- 
ality; for it was one of Tiddu’s maxims that you should 
always carry that with you which made such change 
possible. To be many-faced, he said, made all faces 
more secure by taking from any the right of perma- 
nence. Jim Douglas therefore joined the procession 
and forced his way to the very front of it, where the red- 
splashed figure of Durga Devi was being carried shoul- 
ders high. It was garlanded with flowers and censed 
by swinging censers, and behind it with widespread 
arms to show her sacred scars walked Tara. She was 
naked to the waist, and the scanty ochre-tinted cloth 
folded about her middle was raised so as to show the 
scars upon her lower limbs. The sunlight gleaming on 
the magnificent bronze curves showed a seam or two 
upon her breast also. No more. As Abool-Bukr had 
prophesied, her face, full of wild spiritual exaltation, 
was unmarred and, with the shaven head, stood out bold 
and clear as a cameo. 

]ai\ Jai! Durga mai ke jai (Victory to Mother 
Durga). 




IN' THE CITY. 

The cry came incessantly from her lips, and was 
echoed not only by the procession, but by the spectators. 
So from many a fierce throat besides the corporal’s, who 
from Gul-anari’s balcony shouted it frantically, that 
appeal to the Great Death Mother — implacable, athirst 
for blood — 'Came to light the sordid life of the bazaar 
with a savage fire for something unknown — horribly 
unknown, that lay beyond life. Even the Moham- 
medans, though they spat in the gutter at the idol, felt 
their hearts stir; felt that if miracles were indeed abroad 
their God, the only true One, would not shorten His 
Hand either. 

lail Jai! Durga mai ke jaL 

The cry met with a sudden increase of volume as, the 
procession passing into the wider space before the big 
mosque, it was joined by a band of widows, who in rap- 
turous adoration flung themselves before Tara’s feet so 
that she might walk over them if need be, yet somehow 
touch them. 

“ Pigs of idolators! ” muttered one of a group stand- 
ing on the mosque steps; a group of men unmistakable 
in their flowing robes and beards. 

“Peace, Kasi-sMhl” came a mellojv voice. “Let 
God judge when the work is done. ‘ The clay is base, 
and the potter mean, yet the pot helps man to wash and 
be clean.’ ’’ 

The speaker, a tall, gaunt man, rose a full head above 
the others, and Jim Douglas’ keen eyes, taking in every- 
thing as they passed, recognized him instantly. It was 
the Moulvie of Fyzabad. It was partly to hear what he 
had to say when he was preaching, partly to find out 
how the people viewed the question of the heirship, which 
had brought Jim Douglas to Delhi, so he was not sur- 
prised. 

And now the procession, reaching the Dareeba, the 
narrowest of lanes hedged by high houses, received a 
momentary check. For down it, preceded by grooms 
with waving yak tails, came the Resident’s buggy. He 
was taking a lady to see the /picturesque sights of the 
city. This was one, with a vengeance, as the red- 
splashed figure of the Death-Goddess jammed itself in the 


1 14 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

gutter to let the aliens pass, so getting mixed up with a 
Mohammedan sign-board. And the crowd following 
it, — an ignorant crowd agape for wonders, — stood for a 
minute, hemmed in, as it were, between the buggy in 
front and the mosque behind, with that group of Moul- 
vies on its steps. 

“ Fire worship for a hundred years, 

A century of Christ and tears, 

Then the True God shall come again 
And every infidel be slain,” 

quoted he of Fyzabad under his breath, and the others 
nodded. They knew the prophecy of Shah N’amut- 
Oolah well. It was being bandied from mouth to mouth 
in those days; for the Mohammedan crowd was also 
agape for wonders. 


CHAPTER III. 

ON THE RIDGE. 

“A MELLY Klistmus to ZOO, Miffis Erlton! An’ oh! 
they’s silts a lot of boo’ful, boo’ful sings in a velanda.” 

Sonny’s liquid lisp said true. On this Christmas 
morning the veranda of Major Erlton’s house on the 
Ridge of Delhi was full of beauties to childish eyes. 
For, he being on special duty regarding a scheme for 
cavalry remounts and having Delhi for his winter head- 
quarters, there were plenty of contractors, agents, 
troopers, dealers, what not, to be remembered by one 
who might probably have a voice in much future patron- 
age. So there were trays on trays of oranges and apples, 
pistachios, almonds, raisins, round boxes of Cabul 
grapes, all decked with flowers. And on most of them, 
as the surest bid for recognition, lay a trumpery toy of 
some sort for the Major sahib’s little unknown son, whose 
existence could, nevertheless, not be ignored by these 
gift-bringers, to whom children are the greatest gift of 
all. 

And so, as they waited, with a certain child-like com- 


01^ THE RIDGE. 


115 


placency in their own offerings, for the recipients’ tardy 
appearance, they had smiled on little Sonny Seymour as 
he passed them on his way to give greeting to his dearest 
Mrs. Erlton. For the Seymours had had the expected 
change to Delhi, and Sonny’s mother was now com- 
plaining of the climate, and the servants, and the babies, 
in one of the houses within the Cashmere gate of the 
city; a fact which took from her the grievance regarding 
dog-carts, since it lay within a walk of her husband’s 
office. 

So some of the smiles had not simply been given to a 
child, but to a child whose father was a sahib known to 
the smiler; and one broad grin had come because Sonny 
had paused to say, with the quaint precision with which 
all English children speak Hindustani. 

“ Ail Bij Kao! tti kyon aief ” (Oh, Bij Rao, why 
are you here?) The orderly’s face, which Mrs. Sey- 
mour had said gave her the shivers, had beamed over the 
recognition ; he had risen and saluted, explaining gravely 
to the chota sahib that he came from Meerut, because the 
Major sahib was now his sahib for the time. Sonny had 
nodded gravely as if he understood the position per- 
fectly, and passed on to the drawing room, where Kate 
Erlton was sticking a few sprigs of holly and mistletoe 
round the portrait of another fair-haired boy ; these same 
sprigs being themselves a Christmas offering from the 
Parsee merchant, who had a branch establishment at a 
hill station. He sent for them from the snows every 
year for his customers as a delicate attention. And this 
year something still more reminiscent of home had 
come with them: a real spruce fir for the Christmas tree 
which Kate Erlton was organizing for the school chil- 
dren. The tree in itself was new to India, and she had 
suggested a still greater innovation; namely, that all 
children of parents employed in Government offices or 
workshops should be invited, not only those with pre- 
tensions to white faces. For Kate, being herself far 
happier and more contented than she had been nine 
months before, when she begged that last chance from 
Jim Douglas, had begun to look out from her own 
life into the world around her with greater interest. In 


Ii6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

a way, it seemed to her that the chance had come. Not 
tragically, as Jim Douglas had hinted, but easily, natu- 
rally, in this special duty which had removed her 
husband both from Alice Gissing and his own past 
reputation. 

It had sent him to Simla, where people are accepted 
for what they are; and here his good looks, his good- 
natured, devil-may-care desire for amusement had made 
him a favorite in society, and his undoubted knowledge 
of cavalry' requirements stood him in good stead with 
the authorities. So he had come down for the winter 
to Delhi on a new track altogether. To begin with, his 
work interested him and made him lead a more whole- 
some life. It took him away from home pretty often, so 
lessening friction ; for it was pleasant to return to a well- 
ordered house after roughing it in out-stations. Then 
it took him into the wilds where there was no betting or 
card-playing. He shot deer and duck instead, and 
talked of caps and charges, instead of colors and tricks. 
To his vast improvement; for though the slaying in- 
stinct may not be admirable in itself, and though the 
hunter may rightly have been branded from the begin- 
ning with the mark of Cain, still the shooter or fisher 
generally lives straighter than his fellows, and murder 
is not the most heinous of crimes. Not even in regard 
to the safety and welfare of the community. 

So Kate had begun to have those pangs of remorse 
which come to women of her sort at the first symptom 
of regeneration in a sinner. Pangs of pitiful considera- 
tion for the big, handsome fellow who could behave so 
nicely when he chose, vague questionings as to whether 
the past had not been partly her fault; whether if this 
were the chance, she ought not to forget and forgive — 
many things. 

He looked very handsome as he lounged in, dressed 
spick and span in full uniform for church parade. And 
she, poised on a chair, her dainty ankles showing, looked 
spick and span also in a pretty new dress. He noticed 
the fact instantly. 

“A merry Christmas, Kate! Here! give me your 
hand and I’ll help you down.” 


OM, THE RIDGE. 


I17 

How many years was it since he had spoken like that, 
with a glint in his eyes, and she had had that faint flush 
in her cheek at his touch? The consciousness of this 
stirring among the dry bones of something they had 
both deemed dead, made her set to shaking some leaves 
from her dress, while he, with an irrelevantly boisterous 
laugh, stooped to swing Sonny to his shoulder. “ You 
here, jackanapes!” he cried. “A merry Christmas! 
Come and get a sweetie — you come too, Kate, the beg- 
gars will like to see the mem. By Jove! what a jolly 
morning! ” 

A foretaste of the winter rains had fallen during the 
night, leaving a crisp new-washed feeling in the air, a 
heavy rime-like dew on the earth ; the sky of a pale blue, 
yet colorful, vaulted the wide expanse cloudlessly. And 
from the veranda of the Erltons’ house the expanse was 
wide indeed; for it stood on the summit of the Ridge at 
its extreme northern end — the end, therefore, furthest 
from the city, which, nearly three miles away, -blocked 
the widening wedge of densely wooded lowland lying 
between the rocky range and the river. The Ridge itself 
was not unlike some huge spiny saurian, basking in the 
sunlight; its tail in the river, its wider, flatter head, 
crowned by Hindoo Rao’s house, resting on the groves 
and gardens of the Subz-mundi or Green Market, a 
suburb to the west of the town. It is a quaint, fanciful 
spot, this Delhi Ridge, even without the history of hero- 
ism crystallized into its very dust. A red dust which’ 
might almost have been stained by blood. A dust which 
matches that history, since it is formed of isolated 
atoms of rock, glittering, perfect in themselves, like the 
isolated deeds which went to make up the finest record 
of pluck and perseverance the world is ever likely to 
see. Perseverance and pluck which sent more English- 
men to die cheerfully in that red dust than in the de- 
fenses and reliefs of Lucknow, Cawnpore, and the 
subsequent campaigns all combined. Let the verdict 
on the wisdom of those months of stolid endurance be 
what it may, that fact remains. , 

And the quaintness of the Ridge lies in its individuality. 
Not eighty feet above the river, its gradients so slight 


n8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

that a driver scarce slackens speed at its steepest, there 
is never a mistake possible as to where it begins or ends. 
Here is the river bed, founded on sand; there, cleaving 
the green with rough red shoulder, is the ridge of rock. 

From the veranda, then, its stony spine split by a road 
like a parting, it trended southwest, so giving room be- 
tween it and the river for the rose-lit, lilac-shaded mass 
of the town, with the big white bubble of the Jumma 
mosque in its midst; the delicate- domes fringing the 
palace gateways showing like strings of pearls on the 
blue sky. And beyond them, a dazzle of gold among 
the green of the Garden of Grapes, marked that last 
sanctuary of a dead dynasty upon the city’s eastern wall. 

The cantonments lay to the back of the house on the 
western slope of the Ridge and on the plain beyond. 
This also was a widening wedge of green wooded land 
cut off from the rest of the plain by a tree-set overflow 
canal. The Ridge, therefore, formed the backbone of a 
triangle protected by water on two sides. On the third 
was the city and its suburbs. But — to carry out the 
image of the lizard — a natural outwork lay like a huge 
paw on either side of the head ; on the river side the spur 
of Ludlow Castle, on the canal side the General’s mound. 

A brisk breeze was fluttering the flag on the tower 
cresting the ridge, a few hundred yards from the house, 
and as M^jor Erlton stepped into the veranda, a puff of 
white smoke^ curled cityward, and the roll of the time- 
gun reverberated among the rocks. 

“ By Jingo! I must hurry up if I’m to have break- 
fast before church,” he exclaimed, as the circle of gift- 
bringers, who had been waiting nearly half an hour, 
rose simultaneously with salaams and good wishes. The 
sudden action made a white cockatoo perched in the 
corner raise its flame-colored crest and begin to prance. 

“Naughty Poll! Bad Poll!” came Sonny’s mellif- 
luous lisp from the Major’s shoulder. “ Zoo mufn’t 
make a noise and interrupt.” 

The admonition made the bird smooth its ruffled 
temper and feathers. Not that there was much to inter- 
rupt; the Major’s halting acknowledgments being of the 


ON- THE RIDGE. 


119 

briefest; partly because of breakfast, partly from lack of 
Hindustani, mostly from the inherent insular horror of 
a function. 

“ Thank God! that’s over,” he said piously, when the 
last tray had been emptied on the miscellaneous pile, 
round which the servants were already hovering expect- 
antly, and the last well-wisher had disappeared. “ Still 
it was nice of them to remember Freddy,” he added, 
looking at the toys — “ Wasn’t it, wife? ” 

She looked up almost scared at the title. “ Very,” she 
replied, with a faint quiver in her voice. “ We must 
send some home to him, mustn’t we?” 

The pronoun of union made the Major, in his turn, 
feel embarrassed. He sought refuge once more in 
Sonny. 

‘‘You must have your choice first, jackanapes!” he 
said, swinging the child to the ground again. “ Which 
is it to be? A box of soldiers or a monkey on a stick? ” 

“Fanks!” replied Sonny with honest dignity, “but 
Fse gotted my plesy already. She’s give-ded me the 
polly — be-tos it ’oves me dearly.” 

Kate answered her husband’s look with a half- 
apology. “ He means the cockatoo. I thought you 
wouldn’t mind, because it was so dreadfully noisy. And 
it never screams at him. Sonny! give Polly an apple 
and show Major Erlton how it loves you.” 

The child, nothing loth to show off, chose one from 
the heap and went over fearlessly to the vicious bird ; 
the servants pausing to look admiringly. The cockatoo 
seized it eagerly, but only as a means to draw the little 
fellow’s arm within reach of its clambering feet. The 
next moment it was on the narrow shoulder dipping and 
sidling among the golden curls. 

“ See how it ’oves me,” cried Sonny, his face all 
smiles. 

Major Erlton laughed good-temperedly at the pretty 
sight and went in to breakfast. 

Then the dog-cart came round. It was the same one 
in which the Major had been used to drive Alice Giss- 
ing. But this Christmas morning he had forgotten the 


120 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

fact, as he drove Kate instead, with Sonny, who was to 
be taken to church as a great treat, crushing the flounces 
of her pretty dress. 

Yet the fresh wind blew in their faces keenly, and the 
Major, pointing with his whip to the scudding squirrels, 
said, “ Jolly little beasts, aren’t they, Kate,” just as he 
had said it to Alice Gissing. What is more, she replied 
that it was jolly altogether, with much the same enjoy- 
ment of the mere present as the other little lady had 
done. For the larger part of life is normal, common to 
all. 

So they sped past the rocks and trees swiftly, down 
and down, till with a rumble they were on the draw- 
bridge, through the massive arch of the Cashmere gate, 
into the square of the main-guard. The last clang of 
the church bell seemed to come from the trees overhang- 
ing it, and in the ensuing silence a sharp click of the 
whip sounded like a pistol crack. The mare sped faster 
through the wooden gate into the open. To the left the 
Court House showed among tall trees, to the right Skin- 
ner’s House. ^Straight ahead, down the road to the Cal- 
cutta gate and the boat bridge, stood the College, the 
telegraph office, a dozen or so of bungalows in gardens, 
and the magazine shouldering the old cemetery. Quite 
a colony of Western ways and works within the city wall, 
clinging to it between the water-bastion and the Calcutta 
gate. 

Close at hand in a central plot of garden, circled by 
roads, was the church, built after the design of St. 
Paul’s; obtrusively Occidental, crowned by a very large 
cross. 

As the mare drew up among the other carriages, the 
first notes of the Christmas hymn pealed out among the 
roses and the pointsettias, the glare and the green. Not 
a Christmas environment; but the festival brings its own 
atmosphere with it to most people, and Major Erlton, 
admiring his wife’s rapt face, remembered his own boy- 
hood as he sang a rumbling Gregorian bass of two tones 
and a semi-tone: 


“ Oh come, all ye faithful ! Joyful and triumphant.' 


ON THE RIDGE. 


I2I 


The words echoed confidently into the heart of the 
great Mohammedan stronghold, within earshot almost 
of the rose-red walls of the palace; that survival of all 
the vices Christianity seeks to destroy. 

“ They have a new service to-night,’’ yawned the 
chaplain’s groom to others grouped round a common 
pipe. “ I, who have served padres all my life — the pay is 
bad but the kicks less — saw never the like. ’Tis a queer 
tree hung with lights, and toys to bribe the children to 
worship it. They wanted mine to go, but their mother 
is pious ahd would not. She says ’tis a spell.” 

“Doubtless!” assented a voice. “The spell Kali’s 
priest, who came from Calcutta seeking aid against it, 
warned us of — the spell which forces a body to being 
Christian against his will.” 

A scornful cluck came from a younger, smarter man. 
“Trra! a trick that for ofiferings, Dittu. The priest 
came to me also, but I told him my master was not that 
sort. He goes not to church except on the big day.” 

“ But the mcmf ” asked a new speaker enviously. 
“ ’Tis the mems do the mischief to please the padres : 
just as our women do it to please the priests. My mem 
reads prayers to her ayah.” 

“ Paremeshwar be praised!” ejaculated the man to 
whom the pipe belonged. “ My master keeps no mem, 
but the other sort. Though as for the ayah it matters 
not, she has no caste to lose.” 

There was a grunt of general assent. The remark 
crystallized the whole question to unmistakable form. 
So long as a man could get a pull from his neighbor’s 
pipe and have a right to one in return, the master might 
say and do what he chose. If not; then ? 

An evil-faced man who still smarted from a righteous 
licking, given him that morning for stealing his horse’s 
grain, put his view of what would happen in that case 
plainly. 

“ Bullah ! ” sneered a bearded Sikh orderly waiting to 
carry his master’s prayer-book. “ You Poorbeahs can 
talk glibly of change. And why not? seeing it is but a 
change of masters to born slaves. Oil burns to butter! 
butter to oil ! ” 


122 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


The evil face scowled. “ Thou wilt have to shave 
under thy master, anyhow, Gooroo-jee! Ay! and dock 
thy pigtail too.” 

This allusion to a late ruling against the Nazarene cus- 
toms of the newly raised Sikh levies might have led to 
blows — the bearded one being a born fighter — if, the 
short service coming to an end, the masters had not 
trooped out, pausing to exchange Christmas greetings 
ere they dispersed. 

“ Never saw Mrs. Erlton looking so pretty,” remarked 
Captain Seymour to his wife, as, with the restored Sonny 
between them, they moved off to their own house, which 
stood close by, plumb on the city wall. He spoke in a 
low voice, but Major Erlton happened to be within ear- 
shot. He turned complacently to identify the speaker, 
then looked at his wife to see if the remark was true. 
Scarcely; to Herbert Erlton’s quickened recollection of 
the girl he had married. Yet she looked distinctly 
creditable, desirable, as she stood, the center of a little 
group of men and women eager to help her with the 
Christmas tree. It struck him suddenly, not in the least 
unpleasantly, that of late his wife had had no lack of 
aids-de-camp, and that one. Captain Morecombe, the 
pick of the lot, seemed to have little else to do. A symp- 
tom which the Major could explain from his own ex- 
perience, and which made him smile; he being of those 
who admire women for being admired. 

“ I have arranged about the conjuror, Mrs. Erlton,” 
said Captain Morecombe, who was, indeed, quite ready 
to do her behests; ‘‘that sweep. Prince Abool-bukr, — 
who is coming, by the way, to see the show, — has prom- 
ised me the best in the bazaar. And some Bunjarah 
fellows who act, and that sort of business.” 

“ Better find out first what they do act,” put in young 
Mainwaring, who chafed under the superior knowledge 
which the Captain claimed as interpreter to the Staff. 
“ I saw some of those brutes in Lucknow last spring, 
and ” 

“ Oh! there is no fear,” retorted the other with a con- 
descending smile. “The Prince is no fool, and he is 
responsible. It will most likely be something extremely 


123 


ON THE RIDGE. 

instrucdve. Now, Mrs. Erlton, I will drive you round 
to the College and you can show me anything else you 
I can drive you home afterward.” 

Don’t think we need trouble you, thanks, More- 
combe, said a voice behind. ” I’ll drive my wife I’ll 
stay as long as you like, Kate; and I can stick things 
high up, you know.” ^ 

I here was no appeal in his tone, but Kate, looking up 
at his great height, felt one; and with it came a fresh 
spasrn of that self-reproach. As she had knelt beside 
him in church she had been asking herself if she was 
not unforgiving; if it was not hard on him. 

‘ That will be a great help,” she said soberly. 

So Mrs. Seymour, coming in daintily when the hard 
work was over to put a Father Christmas on the topmost 
shoot, wondered plaintively how she could have man- 
aged it without Major Erlton, and put so much soft 
admiration into her pretty eyes, that he could scarcely 
fail to feel a fine fellow. He was in consequence a 
better one for the time being. So that he insisted on re- 
turning in the afternoon to hand the tea and cake, when 
he made several black-and-tan matrons profusely apolo- 
getic and proud at having the finest gentleman there to 
wait upon them. For the Major was a very fine animal, 
indeed. As Alice Gissing had told him frankly, over and 
over again, his looks were his strong point. 

The larger portion of the guests were of this black- 
and-tan complexion. Of varying shades, however, from 
the unmistakably pure-blooded native Christian, to the 
pasty-faced baby with all the yellow tones of skin due to 
Ils pretty, languid mother, emphasized by the ruddiness 
of the English father who carried it. 

They came chiefly from Duryagunj, a quarter of the 
city close to the Palace, between the river and the Thunbi 
Bazaar. It had once been the artillery lines, and now 
its pleasant garden-set houses were occupied by clerks, 
contractors, overseers, and such like. Then later on, 
for the sports and games, came a contingent of College 
lads, speaking English fluently, and younger boys 
clinging affrjghtedly to their father’s hand as he smirked 
and bowed to the special master for whose favor he had 


124 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


perhaps braved bitter tears of opposition from the 
women at home. The mission school sent orderly 
bands, and there was a ruck of servants’ children, who 
would have gone to the gates of hell for a gift. 

“ You will tire yourself to death, Kate,” called her 
husband, as, quite in his element, he handicapped the 
boys for the races. He spoke in a half-satisfied, half- 
dissatisfied tone, for though her success pleased him, he 
fancied she looked less dainty, less attractive. 

“ Come and see the play,” suggested Captain More- 
cofnbe, who did not seem to notice anything amiss. It 
will be rest, and we needn’t light up yet a while.” 

“ I’m going wis zoo,” said Sonny confidently, escap- 
ing from his ayah as they passed; so, with the child’s 
hand in hers, Kate went on into the long narrow veranda 
which had been inclosed by tent-walls as a theater. 
Open to the sunlight at the entrance, it was dark enough 
to make a swinging lamp necessary at the further end. 
There was no stage, no scenery, only a coarse cotton 
cloth with indistinguishable shadows and lights on it 
hung over a rope at the very end. The place was nearly 
empty. A few native lads squatted in front, a bench or 
two held a sprinkling of half-castes, and at the entrance 
a group of English ladies and gentlemen waited for the 
performance to begin, laughing and talking the while. 

“ You look quite done,” said Captain Morecombe 
tenderly, as Kate sank back in the armchair he placed 
for her halfway down, where a chink of light and air 
came through a slit in the canvas. 

“ I didn’t feel tired before,” she replied dreamily. “ I 
suppose it is the quiet, and the giving in. Tell me about 
the play, please,” she went on more briskly. “ If I don’t 
know something of the plot before it begins, I shall not 
understand.” 

“ I expect you will,” he began; but at that moment a 
cry for Captain Morecombe arose, and to his infinite 
anger he had to go off and interpret for the Colonel and 
Prince Abool-Bukr, who had just arrived. Kate, to tell 
truth, felt relieved. After the clamor outside, and the 
constant appeals to her, the peace within was delightful. 
She leaned back, with Sonny in her arms, feeling so dis- 


ON THE RIDGE. 125 

posed for sleep that her husband’s loud voice coming 
through the chink startled her. 

“ Can’t possibly take that into consideration. The 
race must be run on the runners’ own merits only.” 

He was only, she knew, laying down the law of handi- 
caps to some dissentient; but the words thrilled her. 
Poor Herbert! What had his merits been? And then 
she wondered how long it had been since she had 
thought of him thus by his Christian name, as it were. 
Would it be possible 

” It’s a story of Fate, really,” said one of the spec- 
tators at the entrance, to the ladies who were with him; 
his voice clearly audible in a sudden hush which had 
come to the dim veranda that grew dimmer and dimmer 
to the end, despite the swinging lamp. “ A sort of 
miracle play, called ‘ The Lord of Life, and the Lord of 
Death.’ Yama and Indra of course. I saw it two days 
ago, and one of the actors is the best pantomimist — 
That’s the man — now.” 

Kate turned her eyes instinctively to the open space 
which was to do duty as a stage. The play had begun; 
must have been going on while she was thinking, for a 
scene was in full swing. A scene? A misnomer that, 
surely! when there was no scenery, nothing but that 
strange dim curtain with its indefinite lights and 
shadows. Or was there some meaning in the dabs and 
splashes after all? Was that a corn merchant’s shop? 
Yes, there were the gleaming pots, the cavernous 
shadows, the piled baskets of flour and turmeric and 
pulse, the odd little strings of dried cocoanuts and pipe 
cups, the blocks of red rock-salt. And that — she gave 
an odd little sigh of certainty — was the corn merchant 
himself selling flour, with a weighted balance, to a poor 
widow. What magnificent pantomime it was! And 
what a relief that it was pantomime; so leaving her 
no whit behind anyone in comprehension ; but the equal 
of all the world, as far as this story was concerned. And 
it was unmistakable. She seemed to hear the chink of 
money, to see the .juggling with the change, the substi- 
tution of inferior flour for that chosen; the whole give 
and take of cheating, till the ill-gotten gain was clutched 


126 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


tight, and the robbed woman turned away patiently, 
unconsciously. 

An odd, doubtful murmur rose among the squatting 
boys, checked almost as it began; for the shadowy cur- 
tain behind wavered, seemed to grow dimmer, to curve 
in cloud-like festoons, and then disclosed a sitting 
figure. 

There was a burst of laughter from the entrance. 
“ Rum sort of God, isn’t he? ” came the voice again. 
But from the front rose an uneasy whisper. “ Yama! 
Sri Yama himself; look at his nose! ” 

Viewed without reference to either remark, the figure, 
if quaint, almost ludicrous, did not lack dignity. There 
was impassiveness in the pea-green mask below the 
miter-like gilt tiara, and impressiveness in the immova- 
bility of the pea-green hands folded on the scarlet 
draperies. 

“He answers to Charou, you know,” went on the 
voice again. “ I suppose it means that the bunaya-jee 
will need all his ill-gotten gain to pay fare to Paradise.” 

Did it mean that? Kate wondered, as she leaned 
back clasping Sonny tighter in her arms, or was it only 
to show that Fate lay behind the daily life of every man. 
Then what a farce it was to talk of chance ! Y et she had 
pleaded for it, till she had gained it. “ Let him have his 
chance. Let us all have our chance. You and I into 
the bargain. You and I!” What made her think of 
that now? 

A snigger from the lads in front roused her to a new 
scene; a serio-comic dispute, evidently, between a ter- 
magant of a mother-in-law and a tearful daughter. Kate 
found herself following it closely enough, even smiling 
at it, but Sonny shifted restlessly on her knee. “ I ’ikes 
a funny man,” he said plaintively. “ Tell a funny man 
to come again, Miffis Erlton.” 

“ I expect he will come soon, dear,” she replied, con- 
scious of a foolish awe behind her own words. Fate lay 
there also, no doubt. 

It did, but as the termagant triumphed and the duti- 
ful daughter-in-law wept over her baking, the figure 


ON- THE RIDGE. 


127 


that showed wore a white mask, the rainbow-hued gar- 
ments were hung with flowers, and the white hands 
held a parti-colored bow. 

The boys nodded and smiled. “ Sri Indra himself,” 
they said. “ Look at his bow! ” 

“Who is Indra, Mr. Jones?” asked a feminine voice 
from behind. 

“ Lord of Paradise. And that is the whole show. It 
goes on and on. Some of the scenes are awfully funny, 
but they wouldn't act the funniest ones here. And they 
all end with the green or white dummy; so it gets a bit 
monotonous. Shall we go and look at the conjurors 
now? ” 

The voices departed; pnce more to Kate’s relief. She 
felt that the explanation spoiled the play. And that was 
no dummy! She could see the same eyes through the 
mask; curious, steady, indifferent eyes. The eyes of a 
Fate indifferent as to what mask it wore. So the play 
went on and on. Some of the Eurasians slipped away, 
but the boys remained ready with awe or rejoicing, while 
Kate sat by the chink through which the light came 
more and more dimly as the day darkened. She scarcely 
noticed the actors; she waited dreamily for the Lord of 
Life or the Lord of Death; for there was never any 
doubt as to which was coming. But the child in her 
lap waited indiscriminately for the funny man. The 
thought of the contrast struck her, making her smile. 
Yet, after all, the difference only lay in the way you 
looked at life. There was no possibility of change to it; 
the Great Handicap was run on its own merits. And 
then, like an unseen hand brushing away the cobwebs 
which of late had been obscuring the unalterable facts, 
like a wave collapsing her house of sand, came the 
memory of words which at the time they were spoken 
had made her cry out on their cruelty. “What possible 
right have you or I to suppose that anything you or I can 
do now will alter the initial fact? ” If he — that stranger 
who had stepped in and laid rude touch on her very soul, 
had been the Lord of Life or Death himself, could he have 
been more remorseless? And what possessed her that 


128 


OJ\r THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


she should think of him again and again ; that she 
should wonder what his verdict would be on those vague 
thoughts of compromise? 

“Mrs. Erlton! Mrs. Erlton, everything is ready. 
Everybody is waiting! I have been hunting for you 
everywhere. It never occurred to me you would be here 
after all this time. Why, you are almost alone! ” Cap- 
tain Morecombe’s aggrieved regret was scarcely appeased 
by her hurried excuse that she believed she had been half- 
asleep. For the Christmas tree was lit to its topmost 
branch, the guests admitted, the drawings begun. 

Perhaps it was the sudden change from dark to light, 
silence to clamor, which gave Kate Erlton the dazed look 
with which she came into that circle of radiant faces 
where Prince Abool-Bukr was clapping his hands like a 
child and thinking, as he generally did when his pleas- 
ures could be shared by virtue, of how he would describe 
it all to Newasi Begum on her roof. He drew a spotless 
white lamb as his gift; Major Erlton its fellow, and the 
two men compared notes in sheer laughter, broken Eng- 
lish, and shattered Hindustani. And through the fun 
and the pulling of crackers, Kate, who recovered herself 
rapidly, flitted here and there, arranging, deciding, set- 
ting the ball a-rolling. There was a flush on her cheek, 
a light in her eyes which forced other eyes to follow her, 
even among the packed, prying faces, peeping from every 
door and window at the strange sight, the strange spell. 
One pair of eyes in particular, belonging to a slight, 
clean-shaven man standing beside two others who carried 
bundles in their hands, and who, having come from the 
inside veranda, had found space to slip well to the front. 
They were the actors in the now forsaken drama of Life 
and Death. One of them, however, had evidently seen a 
Christmas tree before, since he suddenly called out in the 
purest English: 

“ The top branch on the left has caught! Put it out, 
someone! ” 

The sound seemed to discomfit him utterly. He 
looked round him quickly, then realizing that the crowd 
was too dense for the voice to be accurately located save 
by his immediate neighbors, gave a half apologetic sign 


OlV THE RIDGE. 


120 


to the older of his two companions and slipped away. 
They followed obediently, but once outside Tiddu shook 
his head at his pupil. 

“ The Huzoor will never remember to forget. He will 
get into trouble some day,” he said reproachfully. 

“ Not if I stick to playing Yama and Indra,” replied 
Jim Douglas with a shrug of his shoulders. “ The Mask 
of Fate is apt to be inscrutable.” He made the remark 
chiefly for his own benefit; for he was thinking of the 
strange chance of meeting those cold blue-gray eyes 
again in that fashion. Beautiful eyes, brilliant eyes! 
Then he smiled cynically. The chance he had given had 
evidently borne fruit. She seemed quite happy, and 
there was no mistaking the look on her owner’s heavy 
face. So the heroics had meant nothing, and he had 
given up his chance for a vulgar kiss-and-make-it-up- 
again ! 

It was too dark to see that look on Major Erlton’s face, 
but it was there, as, carrying Kate off with a certain air 
of proprietorship from the compliments which had grown 
stale, they went to find the dog-cart, which, in deference 
to the mare’s nerves, had been told to await them in a 
quiet corner of the compound. 

“ You did it splendidly, Kate! ” 

His voice came contentedly through the soft darkness 
which hid the easy arm which slipped to her waist, the 
easy smiling face which bent to kiss hers. 

“ Oh, don’t! Please don’t! ” The cry, almost a sob, 
was unmistakable. So was the start which made her 
stumble over an unseen edging to the path. Even Her- 
bert Erlton with his blunted delicacy could not misjudge 
it. He stood silent for a moment, then gave a short hard 
laugh. 

“ You haven’t hurt yourself, I expect,” he said dryly, 
“ so there’s no harm done. I’ll call that fellow with the 
lantern to give us a light.” 

He did, and the vague shadow preceded by a swinging 
light turned out to be young Mainwaring on his pony, 
with the groom carrying a lantern. 

“ Mrs. Erlton,” cried the lad, slipping to the ground, 
''what luck! The very person I wanted. I was going 


130 


ON THE PACE OF THE WATERS. 


round by your house on the chance of catching you, as it 
was useless trying to get in a quiet word this afternoon. 
I want to ask if you know of any houses to let! I had a 
letter this morning from Mrs. Gissing asking me to look 
out one for her.” 

“ For her? ” The echo came in a dull voice. Kate had 
scarcely recovered from her own recoil, from a vague 
doubt of what she had done. 

“ Yes! Her husband had to go home on business and 
won't be out till May. So, as the new people at Luck- 
now seem a poor lot, and she has old friends at 

Delhi ” A remembrance that some of these old 

friendships must be an unwelcome memory to his hearer 
made the boy pause. But the man, smarting with resent- 
ment, had no such scruples — what was the use of them? 

“Coming here, is she?” he echoed. “Then we may 
hope to have some fun in this deadly-lively stuck-up 
place. I say, Mainwaring, would you mind driving my 
wife home and lending me your pony to gallop round to 
the mess. I must go there, and as it is getting late there 
is no use dragging Mrs. Erlton all that way. And she 
has a big Christmas dinner on, haven’t you, Kate? ” 

As the young fellow climbed up into the dog-cart be- 
side her, Kate Erlton knew that one chance had gone 
irretrievably, irrevocably. Would there be another? 
Suddenly in the darkness she clasped her hands tight and 
prayed that there might be — that it might come soon! 

And round them as they drove slowly to gain the city 
gate, the half-seen crowd which had gathered to see the 
strange spell were drifting homeward to spread the tale 
of it from hearth to hearth. 


CHAPTER IV. 

IN THE VILLAGE. 

The winter rains had come and gone, leaving a legacy 
of gold behind them. Promise of future gold in the 
emerald sea of young wheat, guerdon of present gold in 
the mustard blossom curving on the green, like the crests 


IN THE VILLAGE, 


131 

of waves curving upon a wind-swept northern sea. Far 
and near, wide as the eye could reach, there was nothing 
to be seen save this — a waving sea of green wheat crested 
by yellow mustard. But in the center, whence the eye 
looked, stood a human ant-hill ; for the congeries of mud 
alleys, mud walls, mud roofs, forming the village, looked 
from a little distance like nothing else. Viewed broadly, 
too, it was simply Earth made plastic by the Form- 
bringer. Water, hardened again by the Sun-fire. The 
triple elements combined into a shell for laboring life. 
Like most villages in Northern India this one stood high 
on its own ruins, girt round by shallow glistening tanks 
which were at once its cradle and its grave. From them 
the mud for the first and last house had been dug, to 
them the periodical rains of August washed back the 
village bit by bit. 

There was scarcely a sign of life in the sky-encircled 
plain. Scarcely a tree, scarcely a landmark. Nothing 
far or near to show that aught lay beyond the pale hori- 
zon. The crisp, cold air of a mid-January dawn held 
scarcely a sound, for the village was still asleep. Here 
and there, maybe, someone was stirring; but with that 
deliberate calm which comes to those who by virtue 
of early rising have the world to themselves. Here 
and there, too, in the high stone inclosures serving at 
once as a protection to the village and a cattlefold, some 
goat, impatient to be roaming, bleated querulously; but 
these sights and sounds only seemed to increase the still- 
ness, the silence surrounding them. It is a scene 
which to most civilized eyes is oppressive in its self- 
centered isolation, its air of remoteness. The isolation 
of a community, self-supporting, self-sufficing, the re- 
moteness of a place which cares not if, indeed, there be 
a world beyond its boundaries. And this one, type of 
many alike in most things — above all, in steadfast self- 
absorption — shall be left nameless. We are in the vil- 
lage, that is enough. 

Suddenly an odd, clamorous wail rang from among 
the green corn, and a band of gray cranes which had been 
standing knee-deep in the wheat rose awkwardly and 
headed, arrow-shaped, for the great Nujjufgurhjheel 


132 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

which they wotted of below the horizon: in this display- 
ing a wider outlook than the villagers who toiled and 
slept within sight of those fields, while the birds left them 
at dawn for the sedgy stretches of another world. 

At the sound a man, who had been crouching half- 
asleep against a mud wall, rose to his feet and peered 
drowsily over the fields. Something, he knew, must have 
startled the gray cranes; and he was the village watch- 
man. As his father had been before him, as his son, please 
God, would be after him. He carried a short spear hung 
with jingles as his badge of office, and he leaned upon it 
lazily as he looked out into the gray dawn. Then he 
wrapped his blanket closer round him, and walked 
leisurely to meet the solitary figure coming toward him, 
threading its way by an invisible path through the dew- 
hung sea of wheat. 

“ Ari, brother,” he called mildly when he reached ear- 
shot, “ is it well? ” 

“ It is well,” came the answer. So he waited, leaning 
on his spear, until the newcomer stood beside him, his 
bare legs glistening and the folds of his drooping blanket 
frosted with the dew. In one hand he, also, held a watch- 
man’s spear ; in the other one of those unleavened cakes, 
round and flat like a pancake, which form the daily bread 
alike of rich and poor. This he held out, saying briefly: 

“ For the elders. From the South to the North. 
From the East to the West.” 

“ Wherefore? ” The brief reply held vague curiosity; 
no more. The cake had already changed hands, un- 
challenged. 

“ God knows. It came to us from Goloowallah with 
the message as I gave it. Thy folk will pass it on? ” 

” Likely; when the day’s work is done. How go the 
crops thy way? Here, as thou seest, ’tis God’s dew on 
God’s grain.” 

“ With us also. There will be marriages galore this 
May.” 

“Ay! if this bring naught.” The speaker nodded 
toward the cake v hich now lay on the ground between 
them, for they had inevitably squatted down to take alter- 
nate pulls at a pipe. “ What can it bring? ” 


m THE VILLAGE. 


133 


“ God knows,” replied the host in his turn. So the 
two, with that final reference in their minds, sat looking 
dully at the chupatti as if it were some strange wild fowl. 
Sat silently, as men will do over a pipe, till a clinking of 
anklets and a chatter of feminine voices came round the 
corner, and the foremost woman of the troop on their 
way to the tank drew her veil close swiftly at sight of a 
stranger. Yet her voice came as swiftly. “ What news, 
brother? What news?” 

“ None for thee. Mother Kirpo,” answered the resi- 
dent watchman tartly. “ ’Tis for the elders.” 

The titterings and tossings of veiled heads at this snub 
to the worst gossip in the village, ended in an expectant 
pause as a very old woman, with a fine-cut face which 
had long since forsworn concealment, stepped up to 
the watchman, and squatting down beside them, raised 
the cake in her wrinkled hands. 

“ From the North to the South or the South to the 
North. From the East to the West or the West to the 
East. Which?” she asked, nodding her old head. 

“ Sure it was so, mother,” replied the stranger, sur- 
prised. “ Dost know aught? ” 

“Know?” she echoed; “I know ’tis an old tale — an 
old tale.” 

“ What is an old tale, mother? ” asked the women 
eagerly, as, emboldened by the presence of the village 
spey-wife, they crowded round, eying the cake curi- 
ously. 

She gave a scornful laugh, let the chupatti drop, and, 
rising to her feet, passed on to the tank. It suited her 
profession to be mysterious, and she knew no more than 
this, that once, or at most twice in her long life, such a 
token had come peacefully into the village, and passed 
out of it as peacefully with its message. 

“ Mai Dhunnoo knows something, for sure,” com- 
mented a deep-bosomed mother of sons as the troop 
followed their “ chaperone’s ” lead, closer set'ried than 
before, full of whispering surmise. “The grds send it 
mean not smallpox. I will give curds r.nd srgar i > thee, 
Mata jee, each Friday for a year! I swear it fo’ safety 
to the boys.” 


134 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


“ He slipped in a puddle and cried ‘ Hail to the 
Ganges/ ” retorted her neighbor, an ill-looking woman 
blind of one eye. She had been the richest heiress in 
the village, and was in consequence the wife of the hand- 
somest young man in it; a childless wife into the bar- 
gain. “ Boys do not fill the world, verii; not even thine! 
Their welfare will not set tokens a-going. It needs some 
real misfortune for that.” 

‘‘ Then thy life is safe for sure,” began the other hotly, 
when a peacemaker intervened. 

“Wrangle not, sisters! All are naked when their 
clothes are gone; and the warning may be for us all. 
Mayhap the Toorks are coming once more — Mai 
Dhunnoo said ’twas an old tale. God send we be not all 
reft from our husbands.” 

“ That would I never be,” protested the heiress, pro- 
voking uproarious titterings among some girls. 

“No such luck for poor Ramo,” whispered one. 
“ And she sonless too! ” 

“ He shaved for the heat, and then the hail fell on his 
bald pate,” quoted the prettiest callously. “ Serve him 
right, say I. He, at least, had two eyes.” 

The burst of laughter following this sally made the 
peacemaker, who, as the wife of the headman, had 
authority, turn in rebuke. ’Twas no laughing matter to 
Jatnis, as they were, who did so much of the field work, 
that a token, maybe of ill, should come to the village 
when the harvest promised so well. The revenue had to 
be paid, smallpox or no smallpox, Toork or no Toork. 
And was not one of the Huzoors in camp already giving 
an eye to the look of the crops, and the other to the 
shooting of wild things? Could they not hear the sound 
of his gun for themselves if they listened instead of chat- 
tering? And truly enough, in the pause which came to 
mirth, there echoed from the pale northern horizon, be- 
yond which lay the big jheels, a shot or two, faint and 
far; for all that dealing death to some of God’s creatures. 
And these listeners dealt death to none ; their faith for- 
bade it. 

“ Think you they will come our way and kill our deer 
as they did once?” asked a slender slip of a girl anx- 


m THE VILLAGE. 


135 


iously. Her tame fawn had lately taken to joining the 
wild ones when they came at dawn to feed upon the 
wheat. 

“ God knows,” replied one beside her. “ They will 
come if they like, and kill if they like. Are they not the 
masters? ” 

So the final reference was in the women’s minds also, 
as, while the muddy water strained slowly into their pots 
through a filtering corner of their veils, they raised their 
eyes curiously, doubtfully, to the horizon which held the 
master. It had held him always. To the north or to 
the south, the east or the west. Mohammedan, Mah- 
ratta, Christian. But always coming over the far 
horizon and slaying something. In old days husbands, 
brothers, fathers. Nowadays the herds of deer which 
the sacredness of life allowed to have their full of the 
wheat unchecked, or the peacocks who spread their tails, 
securely vainglorious, on the heaps of corn upon the 
threshing floors. 

So the unleavened cake stayed in the village all day 
long, and when the slant shadows brought leisure, the 
headman’s wife baked two cakes, one for the north the 
other for the west, and Dirtu the old watchman, and 
the embryo watchman his son, set off with them to the 
next village west and north, since that was the old cus- 
tom. So much must be done because their fathers had 
done it; for the rest, who could tell? 

Nevertheless, as the messengers passed through the 
village street where the women sat spinning, many paused 
to look after them, with a vague relief that the unknown, 
unsought, had gone out of their life. Then the moon 
rose peacefully, and one by one the sights and sounds of 
that life ceased. The latest of all was the hum of a mill 
in one of the poorest houses, and a snatch of a harvest- 
song in murmuring accompaniment: 

“ When the sickle meets the corn, 

From their meeting joy is born ; 

W’hen the sickle smites the wheat, 

Care is conquered, sorrow beat.” 

“ Have a care, sister, have a care ! ” came that rebuk- 
ing voice from the headman’s house close by. “ Wouldst 


136 OM THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

bring ill-luck on us all, that grinding but millet thou 
singest the song of wheat? ” 

And thereinafter there was no song at all, and sleep 
settled on all things peacefully. The token had come 
and gone, leaving the mud shell and the laboring life 
within it as it had been before. Curiously impassive, 
impassively curious. There was one more portent in the 
sky, one more mist on the dim horizon. That was all. 

So through the dew-hung fields the mysterious mes- 
sage sped west and south. 

Sent by whom? And wherefore? 

The question was being asked by the masters in desul- 
tory fashion as they sat round a bonfire, which blazed in 
the center of the Resident’s camp, on the banks of the 
great jheel. It was a shooting camp, a standing camp, 
lavish in comfort. The white tents were ranged symmet- 
rically on three sides of a square, and, in the moonlight, 
shone almost as brightly as the long levels of water 
stretching away on the fourth side to the sedgy brakes and 
isolated palms of the snipe marshes. Behind rose a heavy 
mass of burnished foliage, and in front of the big mess- 
tent the English flag drooped from its mast in the still 
night air. Nearer the jheel again the bonfire flashed and 
crackled, sending a column of smoke and sparks into the 
star-set sky. The ground about it was spread with 
carpets and Persian rugs, and here, in luxurious arm- 
chairs, the comfortably-tired sportsmen were lounging 
after dinner, some of them in mess uniform, some in 
civilian black, but all in decorous dress; for not only 
was the Brigadier present, but also a small sprinkling of 
ladies wrapped in fur cloaks above their evening fineries. 
Briefly, a company more suitable to the foyer of a theater 
than this barbaric bonfire. But the whole camp, with its 
endless luxury, stood out in keen contrast with the sor- 
did savagery of a wretched hamlet which lay half-hidden 
behind the trees. 

The contrast struck Jim Douglas, who for that even- 
ing only, happened to be the Resident’s guest; for, hav- 
ing been on the jheel in a very different sort of camp 
when the Resident had invaded his solitude, the usual 
invitation to dine had followed as a matter of course; as 


IN THE VILLAGE, 


137 


it would have followed to any white face with pretensions 
to be considered a gentleman’s. He had accepted it, be- 
cause, every now and again, a desire “ to chuck ” as he 
expressed it, and go back to the ordinary life of his class 
came over him. This mood had been on him per- 
sistently ever since the Yama and Indra incident, so that, 
for the time being, he had dismissed his scoundrels and 
given up spying in disgust. He had, he told himself, 
wasted his time, and the military magnate was justified 
in politely* dispensing with his further services. There 
was, in truth, no need for them so far as he could see. 
There was plenty of talk, plenty of discontent, but noth- 
ing more. And even that anyone could observe and 
gauge; for there was no mystery, no concealment. The 
whole affair was invertebrate utterly, except every now 
and again when you came upon the track of the Moulvie 
of Fyzabad. It was conceivable that the aspect might 
change, but for the present he was sick of the whole 
thing, ambition and all. Horse-dealing was better. So 
he had established himself in a small house in Duryagunj, 
started a stable, and then taken a holiday in a shooting 
pal among the jheels and jungles, where in his younger 
days he had spent so much of his time. 

Thus, after eating a first-class dinner, he was smoking 
a first-class cigar, and, being a stranger to everyone 
there, thinking his own thoughts, when the Resident’s 
voice came from the other side of the fire which, with its 
dancing flame-light distorting every feature in myriad 
variation, disguised rather than revealed the faces seen 
by it. 

“ You have bagged one or two in your district, haven’t 
you. Ford?” 

“ What, sir? Bustard? ” inquired the Collector of the 
next district, who had come over his border for a day or 
two’s shoot, and who had been engrossed in sporting 
talk with his neighbor. There was a laugh from the 
other side of the fire. 

“ No! these chupatties. The Brigadier was asking me 
if they were as numerous as they are further south, and 
Fraser, here, said none had come into the Delhi district 
as yet.” 


13S ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ One came to-day into the hamlet behind the tents/* 
said Jim Douglas quietly. I met the man bringing it. 
A watchman from over the border in Mr. Ford’s district.” 

Half a dozen faces turned to the voice which spoke so 
confidently, and then asked in whispers who the man 
was? But there was nothing in the whispered replies to 
warrant that tone of imparting information to others, 
and a man in black clothes seemed to resent it, for he 
appealed to the Resident rather fulsomely. 

“ It will be in the reports to-morrow, no doubt, sir. 
For myself I attach no importance to it.' The custom is 
an old one. I remember observing it in Muttra when 
smallpox was bad. But I should like to have your 
opinion. You ought to know if anyone does.” 

The compliment was no idle flattery. None had a 
better right to it than Sir Theophilus Metcalfe, whose 
illustrious name had been a power in Delhi for two 
generations, and whose uncle had been one of India’s 
most distinguished statesmen. So there was a hush for 
his reply. 

“ I can’t say,” he answered deliberately. “ Personally 
I doubt the dissatisfaction ever coming to a head. There 
is a good deal, of course, but of late, so it has seemed to 
me, it is quieting down. People are getting tired of fer- 
menting. As for the causes of the disaffection it is 
patent. We can’t, simply, do the work we are doing 
without making enemies of those whose vested interests 
we have to destroy. We may have gone ahead a little 
too fast; but that is another question. As for the army, 
I’ve no right to speak of it, but it seems to me it has been 
allowed to get out of hand, out of touch. It will need 
care to bring it into discipline, but I don’t anticipate 
trouble. Its mixed character is our safeguard. It would 
be hard for even a good leader to hit on a general griev- 
ance which would touch both the army and the civil 
population, Hindoos and Mohammedans — and as a 
matter of fact they have no leader at all.” 

“ Have you ever come across the Moulvie of Fyzabad, 
sir? ” remarked Jim Douglas again. If I had the 
power I would shoot him like a mad dog. But for the 
rest I quite agree.” 


IN THE VILLAGE. 


i39 


Here a stir behind them distracted both his attention 
and the attention of those who were listening to this 
authoritative voice with bated breath. 

“Is that the post? Oh, how delightful!” chorused 
the ladies, and more than one added plaintively, “ I won- 
der if the English mail is in.” 

“ Let’s bet on it. Sir Theophilus to hold the stakes,” 
cried a young fellow who had been yawning through 
the discussion. But the subject was too serious for such 
light handling, to judge by the eager faces which 
crowded round, while the red-coated chuprassies poured 
the contents of the bags into a heap on the carpet at their 
master’s feet. There is always a suspense about that 
moment of search among the bundles of official cor- 
respondence, the files, the cases which fill up the camp 
mail, for the thin packet of private letters which is the 
only tie between you and the world; but when hopes of 
home news is superadded, the breath is apt to come 
faster. And so a scene, trivial in itself, points an inex- 
orable finger to the broad fact underlying all our Indian 
administration, that we are strangers and exiles. 

“ Not in! ” announced the Resident, studiously cheer- 
ful. “ But there- are heaps of letters for everybody. 
Did the mem-sahib come in the carriage, Gamoo?” he 
added as he sorted out the owners. 

“ Huzoor! ” replied the head orderly, who was also his 
master’s factotum, thrusting the remainder back in the 
bags. “ And the Major sahib also. According to 
order, refreshments are being offered.” 

“ Glad Erlton could come,” remarked a voice to its 
neighbor. “ We want another good shot badly.” 

“ And Mrs. Gissing is awfully good company too,” 
assented the neighbor. Jim Douglas, who was sitting on 
the other side, looked up quickly. The juxtaposition of 
the names surprised him after what he had seen, or 
thought he had seen at Christmas time. 

“ Is that Mrs. Gissing from Lucknow? he asked. 

“ I believe so. She is a stranger here. Seems 
awfully jolly, but the women don’t like her. Do you 
know anything of her? ” 

Jim Douglas hesitated. He could have easily satisfied 


I4<^ ON THE PACE OF THE WATERS. 

the ear evidently agog for scandal; but what, after all, 
did he know of her? What did he know of his own 
experience? It seemed toliim as if she stood there, de- 
fiantly dignified, asking him the question, her china-blue 
eyes flashing, the childish face set and stern. 

“ Personally I know little,” he replied, “ but that little 
is very much to her credit.” 

As he relapsed into silence and smoke he felt that she 
had once more walked boldly into his consciousness and 
claimed recognition. She had forced him to acknowl- 
edge something in her which corresponded with some- 
thing in him. Something unexpected. If Kate Erlton’s 
eyes with their cold glint in them had flashed like that, 
he would not have wondered; but they had not. They 
had done just the reverse. They had softened; they had 
only looked heroic. Underneath the glint which had 
sent him on a wild-goose chase had lain that common- 
place indefinable womanhood, sweet enough, but a bit 
sickly, which could be in any woman’s eyes if you fancied 
yourself in love with her. It had lain in the eyes belong- 
ing to the golden curl, in poor little Zora’s eyes, might 
conceivably lie in half a dozen others. 

“ By George ! ” came an eager voice from the group 
of men who were reading their letters by the light of a 
lamp held for the purpose by a silent bronze image of a 
man in uniform. “ I have some news here which will 
interest you, sir. There has been a row at Dum-Dum 
about the new Enfield cartridges.” 

“Eh! what’s that?” asked the Brigadier, looking up 
from his own correspondence. “ Nothing serious, I 
hope.” 

“ Not yet, but it seems curious by the light of what we 
were discussing, and what Mr. — er — Capt ” 

“ Douglas,” suggested the owner of the name, who at 
the first words had sat up to listen intently. His face 
had a certain anticipation in it; almost an eagerness. 

“ Thanks. It’s a letter from the musketry depot. 
Shall I read it, sir? ” 

The Brigadier nodded, one or two men looked up to 
listen, but most went on with their letters or discussed 
the chances of slaughter for the morrow. 


IN TH^ VILLAGE. 


I4t 

There is a most unpleasant feeling abroad respecting 
these new cartridges, which came to light a day or two 
ago in consequence of a high-caste sepoy refusing to let 
a lower caste workman drink out of his cup. The man 
retorted that as the cartridges being made in the Arsenal 
were smeared with pig’s grease and cow’s fat there would 
soon be no caste left in the army. The sepoy com- 
plained, and it came out that this idea is already widely 
spread. Wright denied the fact flatly at first, but found 
out that large quantities of beef-tallow had been in- 
dented for by the Ordnance. And that, of course, made 
the men think he had lied about it. Bontein, the chief, 
has wisely suggested altering the drill, since the men say 
they will not bite the cartridges. If they do, their rela- 
tions won’t eat with them when they go home on leave. 
You see, with this new rifle it is not really necessary to 
bite the cartridge at all, so it would be a quite natural 
alteration, and get us out of the difficulty without giving 
in. The suggestion has been forwarded, and if it could be 
settled sharp would smother the business; but what with 

duffers and ” The reader broke off, and a faint smile 

showed even on the Brigadier’s face as the former 
skipped hurriedly to find something safer — “ Old Gen- 
eral Hearsey, who knows the natives like a book, says 
there is trouble in it. He declares that the Moulvie of 
Fyzabad — whoever that may be ” 

The faces look^ at Jim Douglas curiously, but he was 
too eager to notice it. 

“ Is at the bottom of the chupatties we hear are being 
sent round up-country ; but that he is in league also with 
the Brahmins in Calcutta — especially the priests at Kali’s 
shrine — over suttee and widow re-marriage and all that. 
However, all I know is that both Hindoos and Moham- 
medans in my classes are in a blue funk about the 
cartridges, and swear even their wives won’t live with 
them if they touch them.” 

“ The common grievance,” said Jim Douglas, in the 
silence that ensued. It alters the whole aspect of 
affairs.” 

“Prepare to receive cavalry!” yawned the man who 
had suggested betting on the chance of the home-mail. 


142 


ON" THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


What was the use of a week’s leave on the best snipe 
jhee about, if it was to be spent in talking shop? 

“No!” cried the man in black, not unwilling to 
change the subject of which he had not yet official cogni- 
zance. “ Prepare to receive ladies. There is Mrs. 
Gissing, looking as fresh as paint ! ” 

She looked fresh, indeed, as she came forward; her 
curly hair, rough when fashionable heads were smooth, 
glistening in the firelight, the fluffy swansdown on her 
long coat framing her childish face softly. Behind her, 
heavy, handsome, came Major Erl ton with the half- 
sheepish air men assume when they are following a 
woman’s lead. 

“ Here I am at last. Sir Theophilus,” she began, in a 
gay artificial voice as she passed Jim Douglas, who stood 
up, pushing his chair aside to give more room. “ I’m so 
glad Major Erlton managed to get leave. I’m such a 
coward! I should have died of fright all by myself in 
that long, lonely ” 

“ Keep still ! ” interrupted a peremptory voice behind 
her, as a pair of swift unceremonious arms seized her 
round the waist, and by sheer force dragged her back a 
step, then held her tight-clasped to something that beat 
fast despite the calm tone. “ Kill that snake, someone! 
There, right at her feet! It isn’t a branch. I saw it 
move. Don’t stir, Mrs. Gissing, it’s all right.” 

It might be, but the heart she felt Beat hard; and the 
one beneath his hand gave a bound and then seemed to 
stand still, as the sticks and staves, hastily caught up, 
smote furiously on her very dress, so close did certain 
death lie to her. There was a faint scent of lavender 
about that dress, about her curly hair, which Jim Doug- 
las never forgot; just as he never forgot the passionate 
admiration which made his hands relax to an infinite 
tenderness, when she uttered no cry, no sound; when 
there was no need to hold her, so still did she stand, so 
absolutely in unison with the defiance of Fate which 
kept him steady as a rock. Surely no one in all his life, 
he thought, had ever stood so close to him, yet so 
far off! 

God bless my soul ! My dear lady, what an escape ! ” 


IN THE VILLAGE. 


143. 


The hurried faltering exclamation from a bystander her- 
alded the holding up of a long limp rope of a thing hang- 
ing helplessly over a stick. It was the signal for a 
perfect babel. Mauy had seen the brute, but had thought 
it a branch, others had similar experiences of drowsy 
snakes scorched out of winter quarters in some hollow 
log, and all crowded round Mrs. Gissing, loud in praise 
of her coolness. Only she turned quickly to see who 
had held her; and found Major Erlton. 

“ The brute hasn’t touched you, has he? ” he began' 
huskily, then broke into almost a sob of relief, “ My 
God! what an escape! ” 

She glanced at him with the faint distaste which any 
expression of strong emotion showed toward her by a 
man always provoked, and gave one of her high irrele- 
vant laughs. 

“ Is it? I may die a worse death. But I want him — 
where is he? ” 

“ Slipped away from your gratitude, I expect,” said the 
Collector. “ But I’ll betray him. It was the man who 
knew about the chupatties, Sir Theophilus; I don’t know 
his name.” 

“ Douglas,” said the host. “ He is in camp a mile or 
two down the jheel. I expect he has gone back. He 
seemed a nice fellow.” 

Mrs. Gissing made a moue. I would not have been 
so grateful as all that ! I would only have said ‘ Bravo ’ 
to him.” 

Her own phrase seemed to startle her, she broke off 
with a sudden wistful look in her wide blue eyes. 

“ My dear Mrs. Gissing, have a glass of wine ; you 
must indeed,” fussed the Brigadier. But the little lady 
set the suggestion aside. 

“Douglas!” she repeated. “I wonder where he 
comes from? Does anyone know a Douglas?” 

“ James Sholto Douglas,” corrected the host. “ It’s 
a good name.” 

“ And I knew a good fellow of that name once; but he 
went under,” said an older man. 

“About what?” Alice Gissing’s eyes challenged the 
speaker, who stood close to her. 


144 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


‘‘ About a woman, my dear lady.” 

“ Poor dear ! Erlton, you must fetch him over to see 
me to-morrow morning.” She said it with infinite 
verve, and her hearers laughed. 

“ Him! ” retorted someone. “ How do you know it’s 
the same man? ” 

She nodded her head gayly. “ I’ve a fancy it is. And 
I am bound to be nice to him anyhow.” 

She had not the chance, however. Major Erlton, rid- 
ing over before breakfast to catch him, found nothing 
but the square-shaped furrow surrounding a dry vacant 
spot which shows where a tent has been. 

For Jim Douglas was already on his way back to 
Delhi, on his way back to more than Delhi if he suc- 
ceeded in carrying out a plan which had suggested itself 
to him when he heard of General Hearsey’s belief that 
the priests conducting the agitation against widow re- 
marriage and the abolition of suttee were leagued with 
the Mohammedan revival. Tara, the would-be saint, 
was still in Delhi. He had not sought her out before, 
being in truth angry with the woman’s duplicity, and not 
wanting to run the risk of her chattering about him. 
Now, as he had said, the whole position was changed. 
He had no common hold upon her, and might through 
her get some useful hints as to the leading men in the 
movement. She must have seen them when the miracle 
took place at Benares. The thought made him smile 
rather savagely. Decidedly she would not care to defy 
his tongue; from saint to sinner would be too great a 
fall. 

So at dusk that very evening he was back in his mendi- 
cant’s disguise, begging at a doorway in one of the 
oldest parts of Delhi. An insignificant doorway in an 
insignificant alley. But there was a faded wreath of 
yellow marigolds over the architrave, a deeper hollow in 
the stone threshold; sure signs, both, that something to 
attract worshiping feet lay within. Yet at first sight the 
court into which you entered, after a brief passage barred 
by blank wall, was much as other courts. It was set 
round with high irregular houses, perfect rabbit-warrens 
of tiny rooms, slips of roof, and stairs; all conglomerate. 


IN THE VILLAGE. 


145 


yet distinct. Some reached from within, some from 
without, some from neighboring roofs, and some. Heaven 
knows how! possibly by wings, after the fashion of the 
purple pigeons cooing and sidling on the purple brick 
cornices. In one corner, however, stood a huge peepul- 
tree, and partly shaded by this, partly attached to an 
arcaded building of two stories, was a small, squalid- 
looking, black stone Hindoo temple. It was not more 
than ten feet square, triply recessed at each corner, and 
with a pointed spire continuing the recesses of the base. 
A sort of hollow monolith raised on a plinth of three 
steps. In its dark windowless sanctuary, open to the 
outside world by a single arch, stood a polished black 
stone, resting on a polished black stone cup, like a large 
acorn. For this was the oldest Shivala in Delhi, and in 
the rabbit-warrens surrounding this survival of Baal 
worship lived and lodged yogis, beggars, saints, half the 
insanity and sacerdotalism of Delhi. It was not a place 
into which to venture rashly. So Jim Douglas sat at the 
gate begging while the clashings and brayings and drum- 
ings echoed out into the alley. For the seven fold 
circling of the Lamps was going on, and if Tara did not 
pass to this evening service from outside, she most likely 
lived within; that she lodged near the temple he knew. 

So as he sat waiting, watching, the light faded, the 
faint smell of incense grew fainter, the stream of wor- 
shipers coming to take the holy water in which the god 
had been washed slackened. Then by twos and threes 
the Brahmins and yogis — the Dean and Chapter, as it 
were — passed out clinking half-pennies, and carrying 
the offertory in kind, tied up in handkerchiefs. 

The service was over, and Tara must therefore live in 
a lodging reached from within. And now, when the 
coast was clearing, he might still have opportunity of 
tracing her. So he rose and walked in boldly, disap- 
pointed to find the courtyard was almost empty already. 
There were only a few stragglers, mostly women, and 
they in the white shroud of widows: but even in the 
gloom and shadow he could see the tall figure he sought 
was not among them, and he was about to slip away 
when, following their looks, he caught sight of another 


146 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

figure crouching on the topmost step of the plinth, right 
in front of the sanctuary door, so that it stood faintly 
outlined against the glimmer of the single cresset, which, 
raised on the heap of half-dead flowers within, showed 
them and nothing more — nothing but the shadows. 

He drew back hastily into the empty arcade, and 
waited for the widows’ lingering bare feet — scarcely 
heard even on those echoing stones — to pass out and 
leave him and Tara alone. For it was Tara. That he 
knew though her face was turned from him. 

The feet lingered on, making him fear lest some of the 
mendicants who must lodge in these arcades should re- 
turn, after almsgiving time, and find him there. And 
as they lingered he thought how he had best make him- 
self known to the devotee, the saint. It must be some- 
thing dramatic, something to tie her tongue at once, 
something to bring home to her his hold upon her. The 
locket! He slipped it from his neck and stood ready. 
Then, as the last flutter of white disappeared, he stepped 
noiselessly across the court. 

And so, suddenly, between the rapt face and the dim 
light on which its eyes were fixed, hung a dangling gold 
oval, and the Englishman, bending over the woman’s 
shoulder from behind, could see the amaze flash to the 
face. And his other hand was ready with the clutch of 
command, his tongue with a swift threat; but she was too 
quick for him. She was round at his feet in an instant, 
clasping them. 

“Master! Master!” 

Jim Douglas recoiled from that touch once more; but 
with a half-shamed surprise, regret, almost remorse. He 
had meant to threaten this woman, and now 

She was up again, eager, excited. “Quick! The 
Huzoor is not safe here. They may return any moment. 
Quick! Quick! Huzoor, follow me.” 

And as, blindly, he obeyed, passing rapidly through a 
low doorway and so up a dark staircase, he slipped the 
locket back to its place with a sort of groan. Here was 
another woman to be reckoned with, and though the dis- 
covery suited his purpose, and though he knew himself 
to be as safe as her woman’s wit could make him, he 


IN THE RESIDENCY, 


147 


wondered irritably if there was anything in the world 
into which this eternal question of sex did not intrude. 
And then, suddenly, he seemed to feel Alice Gissing’s 
heart beat beneath his hand; there had been no woman- 
hood in that touch. 

So he passed on. And next morning he was on his 
way southward. Tara had told him what he wanted to 
know. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN THE RESIDENCY. 

“ Strawberries! Oh, how delightful! ’’ 

Kate Erlton looked with real emotion at a plate of 
strawberries and cream which Captain Morecombe had 
just handed to her. “ They are the first I have ever seen 
in India,” she went on in almost pathetic explanation of 
her apparent greed. “ Where could Sir Theophilus have 
got them? ” 

“ Meerut,” replied her cavalier with a kindly smile. 
'' They grow up-country. But they put one in mind of 
home, don’t they?” He turned away, almost em- 
barrassed, from the look in her eyes; and added, as if to 
change the subject, “ The Resident does it splendidly, 
does not he?” 

There could be no two opinions as to that. The park- 
like grounds were kept like an English garden, the house 
was crammed from floor to ceiling with works of art, 
the broad verandas were full of rare plants, and really 
valuable statuary. That toward the river, on the brink 
of which Metcalfe House stood, gave on a balustraded 
terrace which was in reality the roof of a low^er story 
excavated, for the sake of coolness, in the bank itself. 
Here, among others, was the billiard room, from the bal- 
cony of which you could see along the curved stone 
embankment of the river to the Koodsia garden, which 
lay between Metcalfe Park and the rose-red wall of the 
city. It was an old pleasure-ground of the Moghuls, 
and a ruined palace, half-hidden* in creepers, half lost in 


148 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

sheer luxuriance of blossom, still stood in its wilderness 
of forest trees and scented shrubs; a very different style 
of garden from that over which Kate Erlton looked, as it 
undulated away in lawns and drives between the Ridge 
and the river. 

“Yes! ’’ she said, “ it always reminds me of England; 
but for that ’’ She pointed to the dome of a Moham- 

medan tomb which curved boldly into the blue sky close 
to the house. 

“ Yet that is the original owner,” replied her com- 
panion. “ There is rather an odd story about that tomb, 
Mrs. Erlton. It is the burial place of the great Akhbar’s 
foster-brother. Most likely he was a cowherd by caste, 
for their women often go out as nurses, and the land 
about here all belonged to these Goojers, as they are 
called. But when we occupied Delhi, a civilian — one 
Blake — fancied the tomb as a house, added to it, and 
removed the good gentleman’s grave-stone to make room 
for his dining-table — a hospitable man, no doubt, as the 
Resident is now. But the Goojers objected, appealed to 
the Government agent. In vain. Curiously enough 
both those men were, shortly afterward, assassinated.” 

“ You don’t mean to connect ” began Kate in a 

tone of remonstrance. 

Captain Morecombe laughed. “ In India, Mrs. 
Erlton, it is foolish to try and settle which comes first, the 
owl or the egg. You can’t differentiate cause and effect 
when both are incomprehensible. But if I were Resident 
I should insure myself and my house against the act of 
God and the Queen’s enemies.” 

“ But this house? ” she protested. 

“ Is built on the site of a Goojer village, and they were 
most unwilling to sell. One could hardly believe it now, 
could one? Come and see the river terrace. It is the 
prettiest place in Delhi at this time of the year.” 

He was right; for the last days of March, the first ones 
of April are the crown and glory of a Northern Indian 
garden. Perhaps because there is already that faint hint 
of decay which makes beauty more precious. Another 
short week and the flower-lover going the evening round 
will find many a sun-weary head in the garden. But on 


IN THE RESIDENCY. 


149 


this glorious afternoon, when the Resident was entertain- 
ing Delhi in right residential fashion, there was not a 
leaf out of place, a blade of grass untrimmed. Long 
lines of English annuals in pots bordered the broad 
walks evenly, the scentless gardenia festooned the rows 
of cypress in disciplined freedom, the roses had not a 
fallen petal, though the palms swept their long fringes 
above them boldly, and strange perfumed creepers leaped 
to the branches of the forest trees. In one glade, beside 
an artificial lake, some ladies in gay dresses were com- 
peting for an archery prize. On a brick dais close to the 
house the band of a native regiment was playing national 
airs, and beside it stood a gorgeous marquee of Cashmere 
shawls with silver poles and Persian carpets; the whole 
stock and block having belonged to some potentate or 
another, dead, banished, or annexed. Here those who 
wished for it found rest in English chairs or Oriental 
divans; and here, contrasting with their host and his 
friends, harmonizing with the Cashmere shawl marquee, 
stood a group of guests from the palace. A perfect bevy 
of princes, suave, watchful, ready at the slightest 
encouragement to crowd round the Resident, or the 
Commissioner, or the Brigadier, with noiseless white- 
stockinged feet. Equally ready to relapse into stolid 
indifference when unnoticed. Here was Mirza Moghul, 
the King’s eldest son, and his two supporters, all with 
lynx eyes for a sign, a hint, of favor or disfavor. And 
here — a sulky, sickly looking lad of eighteen — was Jewan 
Bukt, Zeenut Maihl’s darling, dressed gorgeously and 
blazing with jewels which left no doubt as to who would 
be the heir-apparent if she had her way. Prince Abool- 
Bukr, however, scbnted, effeminate, watched the proceed- 
ings with bright eyes; giving the ladies unabashed 
admiration and after a time actuallystrolling away to listen 
to the music. Finally, however, drifting to the stables to 
gamble with the grooms over a quail fight. Then there 
were lesser lights. Ahsan-Oolah the physician, his lean 
plausible face and thin white beard suiting his black 
gown and skull-cap, discussed the system of Greek 
medicine with the Scotch surgeon, whose fluent, trench- 
ant Hindustani had an Aberdonian twang. Then there 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


^50 

was Elahi Buksh, whose daughter was widow of the late 
heir-apparent; a wily man, dogging the Resident’s steps 
with persistent adulation, and watched uneasily by all the 
other factions. A few rich bankers curiously obsequious 
to the youngest ensign, and one or two pensioners owing 
their invitations to loyal service, made up the company, 
which kept to the Persian carpets so as to avoid the 
necessity for slipping on and off the shoes which lay in 
rows under Gamoo the orderly’s care, and the consequent 
necessity for continual fees. For Gamoo piled up the 
shekels until his master, after the mutiny, had reluctantly 
to hang him for extorting blood-, as well as shoe-money. 

They were a curious company, these palace guests, 
aliens in their own country, speaking to none save high 
officials, caring to speak to none, and waiting with ill- 
concealed yawns for the blunt dismissal or the cere- 
monious leave-taking after a decent space of boredom 
due to their rank. 

“ I wonder they come,” said Mrs. Erlton, passing on 
rapidly to escape from the loud remarks of two of her 
countrywomen who were discussing Jewan Bukt’s jewels 
as if the wearer, standing within a yard of them, was a 
lay figure: as indeed he was to them. 

“Why does anyone come?” asked Captain More- 
combe airily, as he followed her across the terrace, and, 
leaning over the balustrade, looked down at the sand- 
banks and streams below. “ So far as I am concerned,” 
he went on, “ the reason is palpable. I came because I 
knew you would be here, and I like to see my friends.” 

He was in reality watching her to see how she received 
the remark, and something in her face made him con- 
tinue casually. “ And there, I should say, are some 
other people who have similar excuse for temporary 
aberration.” He pointed to the figures of a man and 
woman who were strolling toward the Koodsia along a 
narrow path which curved below the embanking wall, 
and his sentence ended abruptly. He turned hastily to 
lean his back on the parapet and look parkward, adding 
lightly, “And there are two more, and two more! In 
fact most people really come to see other people.” 

But Kate Erlton was proud. She would have no eva- 


IN THE RESIDENCY, 1 51 . 

sion, and the past three months since Christmas Day had 
forced her to accept facts. 

“ It is my husband and Mrs. Gissing/’ she said, look- 
ing toward the strolling figures. “ I suppose he is see- 
ing her home. I heard lier say not long ago she was 
tired. She hasn’t been looking strong lately.” 

The indifference, being slightly overdone, annoyed 
her companion. No man likes having the door slammed 
in his sympathetic face. “ She is looking extremely 
pretty, though,’ he replied cOolly. “ It softens her some- 
how. Don’t you agree with me? ” 

There was a pause ere Kate Erlton replied; and then 
her eyes had found the far horizon instead of those lessen- 
ing figures. 

” I do. I think she looks a better woman than she 
did — somehow.” She spoke half to herself with a sort 
of dull wonder in her voice. But the keenness of his, 
shown in his look at her, roused her reserve instantly. 
To change the subject would be futile; she had gone too 
far to make that possible if he wished otherwise, without 
that palpable refusal which would in itself be confession. 
So she asked him promptly if he would mind bringing 
her a glass of iced water, cup, anything, since she was 
thirsty after the strawberries; and when he went off re- 
luctantly, took her retreat leaning over the balustrade, 
looking out to the eastern plains beyond the river; to 
that far horizon which in its level edge looked as if all or 
nothing might lie behind it. A new world, or a great 
gulf! 

Three months! Three months since she had given up 
that chance, such as it was, on Christmas Day. And 
now her husband was honestly, truly in love with Alice 
Gissing. Would he have been as honestly, as truly in 
love with her if — if she could have forgotten? Had this 
really been his chance, and hers? Had it come, some- 
how? She did not attempt to deny facts; she was too 
proud for that. It seemed incredible, almost impossible; 
but this was no Lucknow flirtation, no mere sensual 
liaison on her husband’s part. He was in love. The 
love which she called real love, which, given to her, 
would, she admitted, have raised her life above the mere 


152 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


compromise from which she had shrunk. But he had 
never given it to her. Never. Not even in those first 
days. And now, if that chance had gone, what re- 
mained? What disgrace might not the future hold for 
her boy’s father with a man like Mr. Gissing, in a coun- 
try where the stealing of a man’s wife from him was a 
criminal offense? Thank Heaven! Herbert was too 
selfish to risk — she turned and fled, as it were, from that 
cause for gratitude to find refuge in the certainty that 
Alice Gissing, at least, would not lose her head. But the 
chance! the chance was gone. 

“ Miffes Erlton,” came a little silvery voice behind her. 
‘‘ Oh, Miffes Erlton ! He’s giv-ded me suts a boo’ful 
birdie.” 

It was Sonny clasping a quail in both dimpled hands. 
His bearer was salaaming in rather a deprecatory man- 
ner, and a few paces off, strolling back from the stables 
with a couple of young bloods like himself, was Prince 
Abool-Bukr. All three with a furtive eye for Kate Erl- 
ton’s face and figure. 

“ He giv-ded it to me be-tos it tumbied down, and 
everybody laughed,” went on Sonny confidently. “ And 
so I is do-ing to comfit birdie, and ’ove it.” 

“ Sonny,” exclaimed Kate, suddenly aghast, “ what’s 
that on your frock — down your arm? ” 

It was blood. Red, fresh-spilled blood! She was on 
her knees beside him in instant coaxing, comforting, un- 
clasping his hands to see where they were hurt. The bird 
fell from them fluttering feebly, leaving them all scarlet- 
stained with its heart’s blood, making Sonny shriek at 
the sight, and hide face and hands in her muslin skirts. 
She stood up again, her cheeks ablaze with anger, and 
turned on the servant. 

“ How dare you ! How dare you give it to the chota- 
sahib? How dare you! ” 

The man muttered something in broken English and 
Hindustani about a quail fight, and not knowing the bird 
was dying when the Mirza gave it ; accompanying his 
excuses with glances of appeal to Prince Abool-Bukr, 
who, at Sonny’s outburst, had paused close by. Kate’s 
eyes, following the bearer’s, met those bright, dark, cruel 


IN THE RESIDENCY. 


153 


ones, and her wrath blazed out again. Her Hindustani, 
however, being unequal to a lecture on cruelty to ani- 
mals, she had to be content with looks. The Prince re- 
turned them with an indifferent smile for a moment, then 
with a half-impatient shrug of his shoulders, he stepped 
forward, lifted the dying quail gingerly between finger 
and thumb, and flung it over the parapet into the river. 

''Ah khutm piydree tussulli rukhiye!” (Now is it fin- 
ished, dear one; take comfort!) he said consolingly, 
looking at Sonny’s golden curls. The liquid Urdu was 
sheer gibberish to the woman, but the child turning his 
head half-doubtfully, half-reassured, Abool-Bukr’s face 
softened instantly. 

"Mujhe mtiadf. Miirna sub ke hukk hai ” (Excuse me. 
Death is the right of all), he said with a graceful salaam 
as he passed on. 

So the water Captain Morecombe brought back was 
used for a different purpose than quenching pretended 
thirst; and the bringer, hearing Kate’s version of the 
story, hastily asked Sonny — who by this time was hold 
ing out chubby hands cheerfully to be dried and prattling 
of dirty birdies — what the Prince had said. The child, 
puzzled for an instant, smiled broadly. 

“ He said it was deaded all light.” 

Kate shivered. The incident had touched her on the 
nerves, taking the color from the flowers, the brightness 
from the sunshine. 

“ Come and have a turn,” suggested Captain More- 
combe; “ they have began dancing in the saloon. It will 
change the subject.” 

But as she took his arm, she said in rather a tremulous 
voice, “ There is such a thing as a Dance of Death, 
though.” 

“ My dear lady,” he laughed, “ it is a most excellent 
pastime. And one can dance anywhere, on the edge of 
a volcano even, if one doesn’t smell brimstone.” 

Kate, however, found otherwise, and when the waltz 
was over, announced her intention of going off to take 
Sonny home, and see Mrs. Seymour and the new baby. 
But in this her cavalier saw difficulties. The mare was 
evidently too fresh for a lady to drive, and Major Erlton, 


154 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

returning, might need the dog-cart. It would be far 
better for him to drive her in his, so far, and afterward let 
the Major know he had to call for her. Kate assented 
wearily. Such arrangements were part of the detail of 
life, with a woman neglected as she was by her husband. 
She could not deliberately avoid them, and yet keep the 
unconsciousness her pride claimed. How could she, 
when there were twenty men in society to one woman? 
Twenty — for the most part — gentlemen, quite capable of 
gauging a woman’s character. So Captain Morecombe 
drove her to the Seymour’s house on the city wall by the 
Water Bastion. There were several houses there, set so 
close to the rampart that there was barely room for a 
paved pathway between their back verandas and the 
battlement. In front of them lay a metaled road and 
shady gardens ; and at the end of this road stood a small 
bungalow toward which Kate Erlton looked involun- 
tarily. There was a horse waiting outside it. It was 
her husband’s charger. He must have arranged to 
have it sent down, arranged, as it were, to leave her in 
the lurch, and a sudden flash of resentment made her 
say, as she got down at the Seymours’ house, “ You had 
better call for me in half an hour; that will be best.” 

Captain Morecombe flushed with sheer pleasure. 
Kate was not often so encouraging. But as he drove 
round to wait for her at a friend’s house, close to the 
Delhi Gazette press, he, to, noticed the Major’s charger, 
and swore under his breath. Before God it was too bad! 
But if ever there were signs of a coming smash they were 
to be seen here. Erlton, after years of scandal, had lost 
his head — it seemed incredible, but there was a Fate in 
such things from which mortal man could not escape. 

And as he told himself this tale of Fate — the man’s 
excuse for the inexcusable which will pass current gayly 
until women combine in refusing to accept it for them- 
selves — another man, at the back of the little house past 
which he was driving, was telling it to himself also. For 
a great silence had fallen between Major Erlton and Alice 
Gissing after she had told him something, to hear which 
he had arranged to come home with her for a quiet talk. 
And, in the silence, the hollow note of the wooden bells 


IN THE RESIDENCY, 


155 


Upon the necks of the cattle grazing below the battle- 
ment, over which he leaned, seemed to count the slow 
minutes. Quaintest, dumbest of all sounds, lacking 
vibration utterly, yet mellow, musical, to the fanciful ear, 
with something of the hopeful persistency of Time in its 
recurring beat. 

Alice Gissing was not a fanciful woman, but as she lay 
back in her long cane chair, her face hidden in its pillows 
as if to shut out something unwelcome, her foot kept 
time to the persistency on the pavement, till, suddenly, 
she sat up and faced round on her silent companion. 

“ Well,” she said impatiently. “ Well! what have you 
got to say? ” 

“ I — I was thinking,” he began helplessly, when she 
interrupted him. 

“ What is the use of thinking? That won’t alter facts. 
As I told you, Gissing will be back in a month or so; 
and then we must decide.” 

Major Erlton turned quickly. “ You can’t go back to 
him, Allie; you weren’t considering that, surely. You 
can’t — not — not now.” His voice softened over the last 
words; he turned away abruptly. His face was hidden 
from her so. 

She looked toward him strangely for a second, cov- 
ered h^r face with her hands for another, then, changing 
the very import of the action, used them to brush the hair 
back from her temples; so, clasping them behind her 
head, leaned back on the pillows, and looked toward him 
again. There was a reckless defiance in her attitude and 
expression, but her words did not match it. 

” I suppose I can’t,” she said drearily, “ and I suppose 
you wouldn’t let me go away by myself either.” 

Once more he turned. “Go!” he echoed quickly. 
“ Where would you go? ” 

“Somewhere!” — the recklessness had invaded her 
voice now — “Anywhere! Wherever women do go in 
these cases. To the devil, perhaps.” 

He gave a queer kind of laugh; this spirited effrontery 
had always roused his admiration. “ I dare say,” he re- 
plied, “ for I’m not a saint, and you have got to come 
with me, Allie. You must. I shall send in my papers, 


156 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

and by and by, when all the fuss is over ” — here he gave 
a fierce sigh — for I expect Gissing will make a fuss, 
we can get married and live happily ever after.’’ 

She shook her head. “ You’ll regret it. I don’t see 
how you can help regretting it! ” 

He came over to her, and laid his big broad hand very 
tenderly on her curly hair. “ No! I shan’t, Allie,” he 
replied in a low, husky voice, “ I shan’t, indeed. I nevcft* 
was a good hand at sentiment and that sort, but I love 
you dearly — dearly. All the more — for this that you’ve 
told me. I’d do anything for you, Allie. Keep straight 
as a die, dear, if you wanted it. And I wasn’t regretting 
— it — just now. I was only thinking how strange ” 

“Strange!” she interrupted, almost fiercely. “If it 
is strange to you, what must it be to me? My God! I 
wonder if any man will ever understand what this means 
to a woman? All the rest seems to pass her by, to leave 
no mark — I — I — never cared. But this! Herbert! I 
feel sometimes as if I were Claude’s wife again — Claude’s 
wife, so full of hopes and fears. And I dream of him too. 
I haven’t dreamed of him for years, and I learned to hate 
him before he died, you know. I have gone back to that 
old time, and nothing seems different. Nothing at all! 
Isn’t that strange? And the old Mai — she has gone 
back, too — sees no difference either. She treats ifie just 
as she did in those old, old days. She fusses round, and 
cockers me up, and talks about it. There! she is com- 
ing now with smelling-salts or sal-volatile or something! 
Oh ! Go away, do, Mai, I don’t want anything except to 
be left alone! ” 

But the old ayah’s untutored instincts were not to be 
so easily smothered. Her wrinkled face beamed as she 
insisted on changing the dainty laced shoes for easy 
slippers, and tucked another pillow into the chair. The 
mem was tired, she told the Major with a respectful 
salaam, after her long walk; the faint resentment in her 
tone being entirely for the latter fact. 

“ You see, don’t you? ” said Mrs. Gissing, with bright 
reckless eyes, when they were alone once more. “ She 
doesn’t mind. She has forgotten all the years between, 
forgotten everything. And I — I don’t know why — but 


IN THE RESIDENCY. 


157 


there! What is the use of asking questions? I never 
can answer even for myself. So we had better leave it 
alone for the present. We needn’t settle yet a while, and 
there is always a chance of something happening.” 

” But you said your husband would be back ” he 

began. 

“ In a month — but we may all be dead and buried in a 
month,” she interrupted. “ I only told you now, because 
I thought you ought to know soon, so as not to be 
hurried at the last. It means a lot, you see, for a man 
to give up his profession for a woman; and it isn’t like 

England, you know ” She paused, then continued in 

an odd half-anxious voice, her eyes fixed on him inquir- 
ingly as he stood beside her. “ I shouldn’t be angry, 
remember, Herbert, if — if you didn’t.” 

” Allie! What do you mean? Do you mean that you 
don’t care?” His tone was full of pained surprise, his 
hand scarcely a willing agent as she drew it close to 
caress it with her cheek. 

“ Care? of course I care. You are very good to me, 
Herbert, far nicer to me than you are to other people. 
And I can’t say ‘ no ’ if you decide on giving up for me. 
I can't now. I see that. Only don’t let us be in a hurry. 
As that big fat man in the tight satin trousers said to the 
Resident to-day, when he was asked what the people 
in the city thought of the fuss down country, ‘Delhi 
diir list.’ ” 

“Delhi dtir list? What the devil does that mean?” 
asked the Major, his brief doubt soothed by the touch of 
her soft cheek. ” You are such a clever little cat, Allie! 
You know a deuced sight more than I do. How you 
pick it up I can’t think.” 

She gave one of her inconsequent laughs. “ Don’t 
have so many men anxious to explain things to you as 
I have, I expect, sir! But if you ever spoke to a native 
here — which you don’t — you’d know that. Even my old 
Mai says it — they all say it when they don’t want to tell 
the truth, or be hurried, and that is generally. ‘ Delhi 
is far,’ they say. Dr. Macintyre translates it as ‘ It’s a 
far cry to Lochawe ’ ; but I don’t understand that ; for it 
was an old King of Delhi who said it first. People came 


I $8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

and told him an enemy had crossed his border. ‘ Delhi 
dur ust,’ says he. Can’t you see him, Herbert? An old 
Turk of a thing’ with those tight satin trousers! Then 
they told him the enemy was in sight. ‘ Delhi dur ust/ 
said he. And he said it when they were at the gate — he 

said it when their swords ” the dramatic instinct in 

her was strong, and roused her into springing to her 
feet and mimicking the thrust. 'Delhi dur ustJ ” 

Her gay mocking voice rang loud. Then she laid her 
hand lightly on his arm. “ Let us say it too, dear,” she 
said almost sharply. “ I won’t think — yet. ‘ Delhi dur 
ust: ” 

The memory of the phrase went with him when he had 
said good-by, and was pacing his charger toward the 
Post Office. But it only convinced him that the Delhi 
of his decision was reached ; he would chuck everything 
for Allie. 

It was by this time growing dusk, but he could see two 
figures standing in the veranda of the Press Office, and 
one of them called him by name. He turned in at the 
gate to find Captain Morecombe reading a proof-sheet 
by the light of a swinging lamp; for Jim Douglas drew 
back into unrecognizable shadow as he approached. He 
had purposely kept out of Major Erlton’s way during his 
occasional returns to Delhi, and as he stepped back now 
he asked himself if he hated the big man most for his 
own sake, or for Kate’s, or for that other little woman’s. 
Not that it mattered a jot, since he hated him cordially 
on all three scores. 

“ Bad news from Barrackpore, Erlton,” said the Cap- 
tain, “ and as I have to drive Mrs. Erlton home I thought 
you might take it round to the Brigadier’s. At least if 
you have no objection, Douglas?” 

“ None. The telegram is all through the bazaar by 
now. You can’t help it if you employ natives.” 

‘ Through the medium of a private telegram,’ ” read 
Captain Morecombe, “ ‘ the following startling news has 
reached our office. On Sunday (the 29th of March) 
about 4.30 p. M., a Brahmin sepoy of the 34th N. I.’ — 
that’s the missionary fellow’s regiment, of course — 
‘ went amuck, and rushing to the quarter-guard with his 


IN THE RESIDENCY. 


159 


musket, ordered the bugler to sound the assembly to all 
who desired to keep the faith of their fathers. The 
guard, ordered to^ arrest him, refused. The whole regi- 
ment being, it is said, in alarm at the arrival that morn- 
ing of the first detachment of British troops, detailed to 
keep order during the approaching disbandment of the 
19th for mutiny; rumor having it that afl sepoys then 
refusing to become Christians would be shot down at 
once. The mutineer, who had been drinking hemp, 
actually fired at Sergeant-major Hewson, providentially 
missing him; subsequently he fired at the Adjutant, who, 
after a hand-to-hand scuffle with the madman, in which 
Hewson joined, only escaped with his life through the 
aid of a faithful Mohammedan orderly. Until, and, in- 
deed, after Colonel Wheler the Commandant arrived on 
the parade ground, the mutineer marched up and down 
in front of the guard, flourishing his musket and calling 
for his comrades to join him. The Colonel therefore 
ordered the guard to advance and shoot the man down. 
The men made show of obedience, but after a few steps 
they refused to go on, unless accompanied by a British 
officer. On this. Colonel Wheler, considering the risk 
needless with an unreliable guard already half-mutinous, 
rode of¥ to report his failure to the Brigadier, who had 
halted on the further side of the parade ground. At this 
juncture (about 5.30 p. m.) matters looked most serious. 
The 43d N. I. had turned out, and were barely restrained 
from rushing their bells of arms by the entreaties of their 
native officers. The 34th, beyond control altogether, 
were watching the mutineer’s unchecked defiance with 
growing sympathy. Fortunately at this moment General 
Hearsey, commanding the Division, rode up, followed 
by his two sons as aides. Hearing what had occurred 
from the group of officers awaiting further developments, 
he galloped over to the guard, ordered them to follow 
him, and made straight for the mutineer; shouting back, 

“D n his musket, sir!” to an officer who warned 

him it was loaded. But seeing the man kneel to take 
aim he called to his son, “ If I fall, John, rush in and put 
him to death somehow.” The precaution was, provi- 
dentially, unnecessary, for the mutineer, seeing the re- 


i6o ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

maining officers join in this resolute advance, turned his 
musket on himself. He is not expected to live. Adju- 
tant Baugh, a most promising young officer, is, we 
regret to say, dangerously wounded.’ ” 

“Treacherous black devils! Td shoot ’em down like 
dogs — the lo.t of them,” said Major Erlton savagely. 
He had slipped from his horse and now stood in the 
veranda overlooking the proof, his back to Jim Douglas. 
Perhaps it was the closer sight of his enemy’s face which 
roused the latter’s temper. Anyhow he broke into the 
conversation with that nameless challenge in his voice 
which makes a third person nervous. 

“ It is a pity you were not at Barrackpore. They seem 
to have been in need of a good pot-shot — even of an 
officer to be potted at — till Hearsey came to the front.” 

Captain Morecombe turned quickly to put up his sword 
as it were. “ By the way, Erlton,” he said hastily, “ I 
don’t think you know Douglas, though you tried to see 
him at Nujjufghur after he saved Mrs. Gissing from 
that snake.” 

But Jim Douglas’ temper grew, partly at his own 
fatuity in risking the now inevitable encounter; and he 
had a vile, uncontrollable temper when he was in the 
wrong. 

“ Major Erlton and I have met before,” he interrupted, 
turning to go; “but I doubt if he will recognize me. 
Possibly his horse may.” 

He paused as he spoke before the Arab which stood 
waiting. It whinnied instantly, stretching its head to- 
ward its old master. Major Erlton muttered a startled 
exclamation, but regained his self-possession instantly. 
“ I beg your pardon — Mr. — er — Douglas, I think you 
said, Morecombe ; but I did not recognize you.” 

, The pause was aggressive to the last degree. 

“ Under that name, you mean,” finished Jim Douglas, 
white with anger at being so obviously at a disadvantage. 
“ The fact is. Captain Morecombe, that as the late King 
of Oude’s trainer I called myself James Greyman. I sold 
that Arab to Major Erlton under that name, and under — 
well — rather peculiar circumstances. I am quite ready 
to tell them if Major Erlton thinks them likely to interest 
the general public.” 


IN THE RESIDENCY. 


i6i 


His eyes met his enemy’s, fiercely getting back now 
full measure of sheer, wild, vicious temper. Everything 
else had gone to the winds, and they would have been at 
each other’s throats gladly; scarcely remembering the 
cause of quarrel, and forgetting it utterly with the first 
grip, as men will do to the end of time. 

Then the Major, being less secure of his ground since 
fighting was out of the question, turned on his heel. 
“ So far as I’m concerned,” he said, “ the explanation is 
sufficient. Give the devil his due and every man his 
chance.” 

The innuendo was again unmistakable; but the words 
reminded Jim Douglas of an almost-forgotten promise, 
and he bit his lips over the necessity for silence. But in 
that — as he knew well — lay his only refuge from his own 
temper; it was silence, or speech to the uttermost. 

‘‘ If you have quite done with the proof. Captain 
Morecombe,” he said very ceremoniously. 

“ Certainly, certainly. Thanks for letting me see it,” 
interrupted the Captain, who had been looking from one 
to the other doubtfully, as most men do even when their 
dearest friends are implicated, if the cause of a quarrel 
is a horse. “ It is a serious business,” he went on 
hurriedly to help the diversion. “ After all the talk and 
fuss, this cutting down of an officer ” 

“ Is first blood,” put in Jim Douglas. “ There will be 
more spilled before long.” 

“ Disloyal scoundrels! ” growled Major Erlton wrath- 
fully. ‘‘ Idiots! As if they had a chance! ” 

They have none. That’s the pity of it,” retorted his 
adversary as he rode off quickly.^ 

Ay! that was the pity of it! The pity of blood to be 
spilled needlessly. The thought made him slacken speed, 
as if he were on the threshold of a graveyard ; though he 
could not foresee the blood to be spilled so wantonly in 
that very garden-set angle of the city, so full now of the 
scent of flowers, the sounds of security. From far came 
Ihe subdued hum which rises from a city in which there 
is no wheeled traffic, no roar of machinery; only the feet 
of men, their tears, their laughter, to assail the irrespon- 
sive air. Nearer, among the scattered houses hidden by 


i 62 on- the face of THE WATERS. 

trees, rose children’s voices playing about the servants’ 
quarters. Across the now empty playground of the Col- 
lege the outlines of the church showed faintly among the 
fret of branches upon the dull red sky, which a cloud- 
less sunset leaves behind it. And through the open arch 
of the Cashmere gate, the great globe of the full moon 
grew slowly from the ruddy earth-haze, then loud and 
clear came Ihe chime of seven from the mainguard gong, 
the rattle of arms dying into silence again. The peace 
of it all seemed unassailable, the security unending. 

“ Delhi dur list! ” 

The words were called across the road in a woman’s 
voice, making him turn to see a shadowy white figure 
outlined against the dark arches of a veranda close upon 
the road. He reined up his horse almost involuntarily, re- 
membering as he did so that this was Mrs. Gissing’s house. 

“ I beg your pardon ” he began. 

“ I beg yours,” came the instant reply. I mistook 
you for a friend. Good-night! ” 

“ Good-night! ” 

As he paced his horse on, choosing the longer way 
to Duryagunj, by the narrow lanes clinging to the city 
wall, the remembrance of that frank good-night lingered 
with him. For a friend! What a name to call Herbert 
Erlton! Poor little soul! The thought, by its very 
intolerableness, drove him back to The other, roused by 
her first words; 

“ Delhi dur ust.” 

True! Even this Delhi lying before his very eyes was 
far from him. How would it take the news which by 
now, as he had said, must have filtered through the 
bazaar? He could iniagine that. He knew, also, that 
the Palace folk must be all discussing the Resident’s gar- 
den party, with a view to their own special aims and 
objects. But what did they think of the outlook on the 
future? Did they also say Delhi dur ustf 

One of them was saying it on a roof close by. It was 
Abool-Bukr, who, on his way home, had given himself 
the promised pleasure of retailing his virtuous afternoon’s 
experiences to Newasi; for his two-months-wed bride had 
not broken him of his habit of coming to his kind one, 


IN THE RESIDENCY, 


163 


though it had made her graver, more dignified. Still she 
broke in on his thick assertion — for he had drunk brandy 
in his efforts to be friendly with the sahibs — that he had 
seen an Englishwoman of her sort, with the quick query: 

“ Like me! How so? ” 

He laughed mischievously. “ And thou art not jeal- 
ous of my wife! — or sayest thou art not! She was but 
like thee in this, aunt, that she is of the sort who would 
have men better than God made them ” 

“ No worse, thou meanest,” she replied. 

He shook his head. “ Women, Newasi, are as the 
ague. A man is ever being made better or worse till he 
knows not if he be well or ill. And both ways God’s 
work is marred, a man driven from his right fate ” 

“ But if a man mistakes his fate as thou dost, Abool,” 
she persisted. “ Sure, if Jewun Bukht with that evil 
woman, Zeenut ” 

He started to his feet, thrusting out lissome hands 
wildly, as if to set aside some thought. “ Have a care, 
Newasi, have a care! ” he cried. “ Talk not of that arch 
plotter, arch dreamer. Nay! not arch dreamer! ’tis thou 
that dreamest most. Dreamest war without blood, men 
without passion, me without myself! Was there not 
blood on my hands ere ever I was born — I, Abool-Bukr, 
of the race of Timoor — kings, tyrants, by birth and trade? 
The blood of those who stood in my father’s way and 
my father’s fathers. I tell thee there is too much tinder 

yonder ” He pointed to where, across the flat 

chequers of moonlit roofs, inlaid by the shadows of the 
intersecting alleys the cupolas of the ^ Palace gates 
rose upon the sky. “ There is too much tinder here,” 
he struck his own breast fiercely, “ for such fiery 
thoughts. Why canst not leave me alone, woman?” 

She drew back coldly. “ Do I ask thee to come 
thither? Thy wife ” 

He gave a half-maudlin laugh. “ Nay, I mean not 
that! Sure thou art very woman, Newasi! That is why 
I love mine aunt! That is why I come to see her — 
that ” 

She interrupted him hastily; but her eyes grew soft, 
her voice trembled. 


1 64 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ And I do but goad thee for thine own good, Abool. 
These are strange times. Even the Mufti sahib — — ” 
“ Ah! defend me from his wise saws. I know the ring 
of them too well as ’tis. Even that I endure — for mine 
aunt’s sake. Though, by the faith, if he and others of 
his kidney waylay me as they do much longer, I will 
have a rope ladder to thy roof and scandalize them all. 
I can stomach thy wisdom, dear; none else. So tell them 
that Abool-Bukr can quote saws as well as they. Tell 
them he lives for Pleasure, and Pleasure lives in the pres- 
ent. For the rest, "'Delhi dtir ust! Delhi dur ust! ” 

His reckless, unrestrained voice rang out over the 
roofs, and into the alley below where Jim Douglas was 
telling himself, that with his finger on the very pulse of 
the city he had failed to count its heart beats. 

He looked up quickly. “ Delhi dur ust! ” All the 
world seemed to be saying it that night; though the first 
blood had been shed in the quarrel. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE YELLOW FAKIR. 

The days passed to weeks, the weeks to a month, after 
that shedding of first blood, and no more was spilled, 
save that of the shedders. Two of them were hanged, the 
regiment ordered to be disbanded. For the rest, though 
causeless fires broke out in every cantonment, though 
a Sikh orderly divulged to his master some tale of a con- 
certed rising, though the dread of the greased cartridge 
grew to a perfect panic, even Jim Douglas, with his eyes 
wide open, was forced to admit that, so far as any chance 
of action went, the reply might still be “ Delhi dur ust.” 
The sky was dark indeed, there were mutterings on the 
horizon; but he and others remembered how often 
in India, even when rain is due, the clouds creep up and 
up day by day, darker and more lowering, until the yel- 
lowing crops seem to grow greener in she'er hope of the 
purple pall above them. And then some unseen hand 
juggles those portentous rain-clouds into the daily dark- 


THE YELLOW FAKIR. 


165 


ness of night, and some dawn rises clear and dry to show, 
in its fierce blaze of sunlight, how the yellow has gained 
on the green. 

So, day by day, the impression grew among the 
elect that the storm signals would pass; that the best 
policy was to tide over the next few months somehow. 
In pursuance of which a sepoy who ventured to draw 
attention to the state of feeling in one regiment was pub- 
licly told he need expect no promotion. 

But there were dissentients to this policy, apparently. 
Anyhow, in the end of April, Colonel Carmichael Smyth, 
commanding the 3d Bengal Cavalry at Meerut, returned 
from leave one evening, and ordered fifteen men from 
each troop to be picked out to learn the use of the new 
cartridge next morning, and then went to bed comfort- 
ably. The men, through their native officers, appealed 
to their captain for delay. They were neither prepared 
to take nor refuse the cartridges, old or new. No answer 
wa^ given them. They marched to the parade obedi- 
ently at sunrise, and eighty-five of the ninety men picked 
from a picked regiment for smartness and intelligence 
refused to take the cartridges, even from their Colonel’s 
or their Adjutant’s hand. Their own troop officers were 
not present. They were at once tried by a court- 
martial of native officers, some of whom came from 
the regiments at Delhi; but thirty odd miles off along 
a broad, level driving road. They were sentenced 
to ten years’ penal servitude, and a parade of all troops 
was ordered for sunrise on the 9th of May, to put the 
sentence into force. 

So the night of the 8th found Jim Douglas riding 
over from Delhi in the cool to see something which, if 
anything could, ought to turn mere talk into action. It 
had brought a new sound into the air already. The 
clang of cold iron upon hot, rising from the regimental 
smithy, where the fetters for the eighty-five were being 
forged. A cruel sound at best, proclaiming the in- 
dubitable advantage of coolness and hardness over glow 
and plasticity. Cruel indeed when the hardness and 
insistency goes to the forging of fetters for emotion and 
ignorance. 


t66 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


Clang! Clang! Clang! 

The sound rang out into the hot airless night, rang 
out into the gusty dawn ; for it takes time to forge eighty- 
five pairs of shackles. Rang out to where a mixed guard 
of the nth and 20th Regiments of Native Infantry were 
waiting round the tumbrils for the last fetter. The gray 
of dawn showed the rest piled on the tumbrils, showed 
two English officers on horseback talking to each other 
a little way off, showed the faces of the guard dark and 
lowering like the dawn itself. 

“ Loh\ sergeant jeel there is the last,” said the master- 
armorer cheerfully. His task was done, at any rate. 

Soma took it from him silently, and flung it on the 
others almost fiercely; it settled among them with a 
clank. His regiment, the nth, had but newly come to 
Meerut, and therefore had as yet no ties of personal com- 
radeship with the eighty-five, but fetters for any sepoys 
were enough to make the pulse beat full and heavy. 

“The last, thank Heaven!” said the Captain, giving 
his bridle rein a jag. “ All right forward, Jones! Then 
fall in, men. Quick march! We are late enough 
as it is.” 

The disciplined feet fell in without a waver; the tum- 
brils moved on with a clank and a creak. 

Quick march! Soma’s mind, fair reflection of the 
minds of all about him, was full of doubt. Was that 
indeed the last fetter, or did Rumor say sooth when it told 
of others being secretly forged? Who could say in these 
days, when the Huzoors themselves had taken to telling- 
lies. Not his Huzoors as yet; his Colonels and Captains 
and Majors, even the little sahib, who laughed over his 
own mistakes on parade, told the truth still. But the 
others lied. Lied about enlistment, about prize-money 
and leave, about those cartridges. At least, so the men 
in the 20th said; the sergeant marching next to him be- 
hind the tumbril most of all. 

“ ’Tis but three weeks longer, comrade,” said this man 
suddenly in a low whisper. They were treading the dim, 
deserted outskirts of the cantonment bazaar, and Soma 
looked round nervously at the officers behind. Had they 
heard? He frowned at the speaker and made no reply. 


THE YELLOW FAKIR. 


167 


He gave a deaf ear, when he could, to the talk in the 20th; 
but that was not always, for its sepoys were a part of the 
Bengal army. That army which was not — as a European 
army is — a mere chance collection of men divided from 
each other in the beginning and end of life, associated 
loosely with each other in its middle, and using military 
service as a make-shift; but, to a great extent, a guild, 
following the profession of arms by hereditary custom 
from the cradle to the grave. 

Quick march! A woman, early astir, peered at the 
little procession through the chink of a door, and whis- 
pered to an unseen companion behind. What was she 
saying? What, by implication, would other women, who 
^ peeped virtuously — women he knew — say of his present 
occupation? That he was a coward to be guarding his 
comrades’ fetters? No doubt; since others with less 
right would say it too. All the miserable, disreputable 
riff-raff, for instance, which had drifted in from the neigh- 
borhood to see the show. The bazaar had been full of it 
these three days past. Even the sweepers, pariahs, out- 
. castes, would snigger over the misfortunes of their 
betters — as those two ahead were doubtless sniggering 
already as they drew aside from their slave’s work of 
sweeping the roadway, to let the tumbrils pass. Drew 
aside with mock deference, leaving scantiest room for 
the twice-born following them. So scant, indeed, that 
the outermost tip of a reed broom, flourished in insolent 
salaam, touched the Rajput’s sleeve. It was the veriest 
brush, no more than a fly’s wing could have given; but 
the half-stifled cry from Soma’s lips meant murder — 
nothing less. His disciplined feet wavered, he gave a 
furtive glance at his companions. Had they seen the 
insult? Could they use it against him? 

“Eyes front, there; forward!” came the order from 
behind, and he pulled himself together by instinct and 
went on. 

“Only three weeks longer, brother! ” said that voice 
beside him meaningly; and a dull rage rose in Soma’s 
heart. So it had been seen. It might be said of him. 
Soma, that he had tamely submitted to a defiling 
touch. He did not look round at his officers this time. 


i68 


ON 7^HE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


They might hear if they chose, the future might hold 
what it chose. Mayhap they had seen the insult and 
were laughing at it. They were not his Huzoors; they 
belonged to the man at his side, who had the right to 
taunt him. As a matter of fact, they were discussing the 
chances of their ponies in next week’s races; but Soma, 
lost in a great wrath, a great fear, made it, inevitably, 
the topic of the whole world. 

Hark! The bugle for the Rifles to form; they were to 
come to the parade loaded with ball cartridge. And that 
rumble was the Artillery, loaded also, going to take up 
their position. By and by the Carabineers would sweep 
with a clatter and a dash to form the third side of the 
hollow square, whereof the fourth was to be a mass of 
helpless dark faces, with the eighty-five martyrs and 
tumbrils in the middle. Soma had seen it all in general 
orders, talked it over with his dearest friend, and called 
it tyranny. And now the tumbrils clanked past a little 
heap of smoldering ashes, that but the day before had 
been a guard-house. The lingering smoke from this last 
work of the incendiary drifted northward,- after the fet- 
ters, making one of the officers cough. But he went on 
talking of his ponies. True type of the race which lives 
to make mistakes, dies to retrieve them. Quick march! 

Streams of spectators bound for the show began to 
overtake them, ready with comments on what Soma 
guarded. And on the broad white Mall, dividing the 
native half of the cantonments and the town of Meerut 
from the European portion, more than one carriage with 
a listless, white-faced woman in it dashed by, on its way 
to see the show. The show! 

Quick march! Whatever else might be possible in 
the future, that was all now, midway between the barracks 
of the Rifles and the Carabineers, with the church-mute 
symbol of the horror which, day by day, month by 
month, had been closing in round the people — blocking 
the way in front. So on the wide northern parade ground, 
with that hollow square ready. Three sides of threaten- 
ing weapons, the fourth of unarmed men. In the center 
the eighty-five picked men of a picked regiment. 

The knot of European spectators round the flag 


THE YELLOW FAKIR. 


169 


listened with yawns to the stout General’s exordium. 
The eighty-five being hopelessly, helplessly in the wrong 
by military law^ there seemed to be no need to insist on 
the fact. And the mass of dark faces standing within' 
range of loaded guns and rifles, within reach of glistening 
sabers, did not listen at all. Not that it mattered, since 
the units in that crowd had lost the power of accepting 
facts. Even Soma, standing to attention beside the tum- 
brils, only felt a great sense of outrage, of wrong, of in- 
justice somewhere. And there was one Englishman, at 
least, rigid to attention also before his disarmed, dis- 
mounted, yet loyal troop, who must have felt it also, 
unless he was more than human. And this was Captain 
Craigie, who, when his men appealed to him to save 
them, to delay this unnecessary musketry parade, had 
written in his haste to the Adjutant, “ Go to Smyth at 
once! Go to Smyth!” and Smyth was his Colonel! 
Incredible lack of official etiquette. Repeated hardily, 
moreover. “ Pray don’t lose a moment, but go to Smyth 
and tell him.” What? Only that this is a most serious 
matter, and we may have the whole regiment in open 
mutiny in half an hour if it is not attended to.” Only 
that! So it is to be hoped that Captain Craigie had the 
official wigging for his unconventional appeal in his 
pocket as he shared his regiment’s disgrace, to serve him 
as a warning — or a consolation. 

And now the pompous monotone being ended, the ^ 
, silence, coming after the clankings, and buglings, and 
trampings which had been going on since dawn, was 
almost oppressive. The three sides of steel, even the 
fourth of faces, however, showed no sign. They stood 
as stone while the eighty-five were stripped of their uni- 
forms. But there was more to come. By the General’s 
orders the leg-irons were to be riveted on one by one; 
and so, once more, the sound of iron upon iron recurred 
monotonously, making the silence of the intervals still 
more oppressive. For the prisoners at first seemed 
stunned by the isolation from even their as yet unfettered 
comrades. But suddenly from a single throat came that 
cry for justice, which has a claim to *a hearing, at least, 
in the estimation of the people of India. 


170 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ Dohai! Dohai! Dohai! ” 

Soma gave a sort of sigh, and a faint quiver of expec- 
tation passed over the sea of dark faces. 

' Clang! Clang! The hammers, going on unchecked, 
were the only answer. Those three sides of stone had 
come to see a thing done, and it must be done; the sooner 
the better. But the riveting of eighty-five pairs of leg- 
irons is not to be done in a moment; so the cry grew 
clamorous. Dohai! Dohai! Had they not fought 
faithfully in the past? Had they not been deceived? 
Had they had a fair chance? 

But the hammers went on as the sun climbed out of 
the dust-haze to gleam on the sloped sabers, glint on the 
loaded guns, and send glittering streaks of light along 
the rifles. 

So the cry changed. Were their comrades cowards to 
stand by and see this tyranny and raise no finger of help? 
Oh ! curses on them ! ’Tis they who were degraded, dis- 
honored. Curses on the Colonel who had forced them 
to this! Curses on every white face! — curses on every 
face which stood by! 

One, close to the General’s flag, broke suddenly into 
passionate resentment. Jim Douglas drew out his 
watch, looked at it, and gathered his reins together. 
“ An hour and forty-five minutes already. I’m off, 
Ridgeway. I can’t stand this d d folly any more.” 

“ My dear fellow, speak lower! If the General ” 

“ I don’t care who hears me,” retorted Jim Douglas 
recklessly as he steered through the crowd, followed by 

his friend, ‘‘ I say it is d d inconceivable folly and 

tyranny. Come on, and let’s have a gallop, for God’s 
sake, and get rid of that devilish sound.” 

The echo of their horses’ resounding hoofs covered, 
obliterated it. The wind of their own swiftness seemed 
to blow the tension away. So after a spin due north for 
a mile or two they paused at the edge of a field where the 
oxen were circling placidly round on the threshing- 
floors and a group of women were taking advantage of 
the gustiness to winnow. Their bare, brown arms glist- 
ened above the falling showers of golden grain, their 
unabashed smiling faces showed against the clouds of 
golden chaff drifting behind them. 


THE YELLOW FAHtR. 


171 


Jim Douglas looked at them for a moment, returned 
the salaam of the men driving the oxen and forking the 
straw, then turned his horse toward the cantonment 
again. 

“ It is nothing to them; that’s one comfort,” he said. 
” But they will have to suffer for it in the end, I expect. 
Who will believe when the time comes that this ” — he 
gave a backward wave of his hand — “ went on unwit- 
tingly of that? ” 

His companion, following his look ahead, to where, in 
the far distance, a faint cloud of dust, telling of many feet, 
hung on the horizon, said suddenly, as if the sight 
brought remembrance: ‘‘By George! Douglas, how 
steady the sepoys stood! I half expected a row.” 

‘‘ Steadier than I should,” remarked the other grimly. 
“ Well, I hope Smyth is satisfied. To return from leave 
and drive your regiment into mutiny in twelve hours is 
a record performance.” 

His hearer, who was a civilian, gave a deprecating 
cough. “ That’s a bit hard, surely. I happen to know 
that he heard while on leave some story about a con- 
certed rising later on. He may have done it purposely, 
to force their hands.” 

Jim Douglas shrugged his shoulders. “ Did he warn 
you what he was about to do? Did he allow time to pre- 
pare others for his private mutiny? My dear Ridgeway, 
it was put on official record two months ago that an' 
organized scheme for resistance existed in every regiment 
between Calcutta and Peshawur ; so Smyth might at least 
have consulted the colonels of the other two regiments 
at Meerut. As it is, the business has strained the loyalty 
of the most loyal to the uttermost; and we deserve to 
suffer, we do indeed.” 

“ You don’t mince matters, certainly,” said the civilian 
dryly. 

“Why should anybody mince them? Why can’t we 
admit boldly — the C.-in-C. did it on the sly the other day 
— that the cartridges are suspicious? that they leave the 
muzzle covered with a fat, like tallow? Why don’t we 
admit it was tallow at first. Why not, at any rate, admit 
we are in a hole, instead of refusing to take the common 


172 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

precaution of having an ammunition wagon loaded up 
for fear it should be misconstrued into alarm? Is there 
no medium between bribing children with lollipops and 
torturing them — keeping them on the strain, under fire, 
as it were, for hours, watching their best friends pun- 
ished unjustly?” 

“Unjustly?” 

“ Yes. To their minds unjustly. And you know what 
forcible injustice means to children — and these are really 
children — simple, ignorant, obstinate.” 

They had come back to cantonments again and were 
rapidly overtaking the now empty tumbrils going home, 
for the parade was over. Further down the road, raising 
a cloud of dust from their shackled feet, the eighty-five 
were being marched jailward under a native escort. 

“ Well,” said the civilian dryly, “ I would give a great 
deal to know what those simple babes really thought 
of us.” 

“ Hate us stock and block for the time. I should,” 
replied Jim Douglas. They were passing the tumbrils 
at the moment, and one of the guard, in sergeant’s uni- 
form, looked up in joyful recognition. 

“ Huzoor! It is I, Soma.” 

The civilian looked at his companion oddly when, 
after a minute or two spent in answering Soma’s inquir- 
ies as to where and how the master was to be found, Jim 
Douglas rode alongside once more. 

“ Out a bit, eh? ” he said dryly. 

“Very much out; but they are a queer lot. Do you 
remember the story of the self-made American' who 
was told his boast relieved the Almighty of a great 
responsibility? Well, he is only responsible for one- 
half of the twice-born. The other is due to humanity, 
to heredity, what you will! That is what makes these 
high-caste men so difficult to deal with. They are twice 
born. Yes! they are a queer lot.” 

He repeated the remark with even greater fervor 
twelve hours later, when, about midnight, he started on 
his return ride to Delhi. For though he had spent the 
whole day in listening, he had scarcely heard a word of 
blame for the scene which had roused him to wrath that 


THE YELLOW FALCIR. 


175 


morning. The sepoys had gone about their duties as if 
nothing had happened; and despite the undoubted pres- 
ence of a lot of loose characters in the bazaar, there had 
been no disturbance. He laughed cynically to himself 
at the waste of a day which would have been better spent 
in horse dealing. This, however, settled it. If this in- 
tolerable tyranny failed to rouse action there could be no 
immediate danger ahead. To a big cantonment like 
Meerut, the biggest in Northern India, with two thousand 
British troops in it, even the prospect of a rising was not 
serious; at Delhi, however, where there were only native 
troops, it might have been different. But now he felt 
that a handful of resolute men ought to be able to hold 
their own anywhere against such aimless invertebrate 
discontent. He felt a vague disappointment that it 
should be so, that the pleasant cool of night should be 
so quiet, so peaceful. They were a poor lot who could 
do nothing but talk! 

As he rode through the station the mess-houses were 
still alight, and the gay voices of the guests who had been 
dining at a large bungalow, bowered in gardens, reached 
his ears distinctly. 

“ It’s the Sabbath already,” said one. “ Ought to be 
in our beds ! ” 

“ Hooray! for a Europe morning,” came a more boyish 
one breaking into a carol, ‘‘ of all the days within the 
week I dearly love ” 

“Shut up, Fitz!” put in a third, “you’ll wake the 
General ! ” 

“ What’s the odds? He can sleep all day. I’m sure 
his buggy charger needs a rest.” 

“ Do shut up, Fitz! The Colonel will hear you.” 

“ I don’t care. It’s Scriptural. Thou and thy ox and 
thy ass ” 

“You promised to come to evening church, Mr. Fitz- 
gerald,” interrupted a reproachful feminine voice; “you 
said you would sing in the choir.” 

“Did I? Then I’ll come. It will wake me up for 
dinner; besides, I shall sit next you.” 

The last words came nearer, softer. Mr. Fitzgerald 
was evidently riding home beside someone’s carriage. 


174 


ON THE FACE OF THE IV A TEES. 


Pleasant and peaceful indeed! that clank of a sentry, 
here and there, only giving a greater sense of security. 
Not that it was needed, for here, beyond cantonments, 
the houses of the clerks and civilians lay as peaceful, as 
secure. In the veranda of one of them, close to the 
road, a bearer was walking up and down crooning a 
patient lullaby to the restless fair-haired child in his arms. 

No! truly there could be no fear. It was all talk! 
He set spurs to his horse and went on through the silent 
night at a hand-gallop, for he had another beast await- 
ing him halfway, and he wished to be in Delhi by dawn. 
There was a row of tall trees bordering the road on 
either side, making it dark, and through their swiftly 
passing boles the level country stretched to the paler 
horizon like a sea. And as he rode, he sat in judgment 
in his thoughts on those dead levels and the people who 
lived in them. 

Stagnant, featureless! A dead sea! A mere waste of 
waters without form or void! Not even ready for a 
spirit to move over them; for if that morning’s work 
left them apathetic, the Moulvie of Fyzabad himself need 
preach no voice of God. For thiSy surely — this sense of 
injustice to others, must be the strongest motive, the sur- 
est word to conjure with. That dull dead beat of iron 
upon the fetters of others, — which he still seemed to 
hear, — the surest call to battle. 

He paused in his thought, wondering if what he fancied 
he heard was but an echo from memory or real sound! 
Real; undoubtedly. It was the distant clang of the iron 
bells upon oxen. That meant that he must be seven or 
eight miles out, halfway to the next stage, so meeting the 
usual stream of night traffic toward Meerut. He passed 
two or three strings of large, looming, half-seen wains 
without drawing bridle, then pulled up almost involun- 
tarily to a trot at the curiously even tread of a drove of 
iron-shod oxen, and a low chanted song from behind it. 
Bunjarah folk! The rough voice, the familiar rhythm 
of the hoofs, reminded him of many a pleasant night- 
march in their company. 

“A good journey, brothers! ” he called in the dialect. 
The answer came unerringly, dark though it was. 


THE YELLOW FAKIR. 


175 


“ The Lord keep the Huzoor safe! 

It made him smile as he remembered that of course a 
lone man trotting a horse along a highroad at night was 
bound to be alien in a country where horses are 
ambled and travelers go in twos and threes. So the 
rough, broad faces would be smiling over the surprise 
of a 'sahib knowing the Bunjarah talk; unless, indeed, it 

happened to be The possibility of its being the 

tanda he knew had not occurred to him before. He 
pulled up and looked round. A breathless shadow was 
at his stirrup, and he fancied he saw a shadow or two 
further behind. 

“ The Huzoor has mistaken the road,” came Tiddu’s 
familiar creak. “ Meerut lies to the north.” 

Breathless as he was, there was the pompous mystery 
in his voice which always prefaced an attempt to ex- 
tort money. And Jim Douglas, having no further use 
for the old scoundrel, did not intend to give him any, so 
he simulated an utter lack of surprise. 

“ Hello, Tiddu! ” he said. “ I had an idea it might be 
you. So you recognized my voice?” 

The old man laughed. “ The Huzoor is mighty 
clever. He knows old Tiddu has eyes. They saw the 
Huzoor’s horse — a bay Wazeerie with a white star none 
too small, and all the luck-marks — waiting at the fifteenth 
milestone, by Begum-a-bad. But the Huzoor, being so 
clever, is not going to ride the Wazeerie to-night. He is 
going to ride the Belooch he is on back to Meerut, 
though the star on her forehead is too small for safety; 
my thumb could cover it.” 

“ It’s a bit too late to teach me the luck-marks, Tiddu,” 
said Jim Douglas coolly. “ You want money, you 
ruffian ; so I suppose you have something to sell. What 
is it? If it is worth anything, you can trust me to pay, 
surely.” 

Tiddu looked round furtively. The other shadow, 
Jhungi or Bhungi, or both, perhaps — the memory made 
Jim Douglas smile — had melted away into the darkness. 
He and Tiddu were alone. The old man, even so, 
reached up to whisper. 

“ Tis the yellow fakir, Huzoor! He has come.” 


176 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


“ The yellow fakir! ” echoed his hearer; “ who the devil 
is he? And why shouldn’t he come, if he likes? ” 

Tiddu paused, as if in sheer amaze, for a second. 
“ The Huzoor has not heard of the yellow fakir? The 
dumb fakir who brings the speech that brings more than 
speech. Wahl ” 

“ Speech that is more than speech,” echoed Jim Doug- 
las angrily, then paused in his turn ; the phrase reminded 
him, vaguely, of his past thoughts. 

Tiddu’s hand went out to the Belooch’s rein; his voice 
lost its creak and took a soft sing-song to which the mare 
seemed to come round of her own accord. 

“Yea! Speech that is more than speech, though he is 
dumb. Whence he comes none know, not even I, the 
Many-Faced. But I can see him when he comes, 
Huzoor! The others, not unless he wills to be seen. I 
saw him to-night. He passed me on a white horse not 
half an hour agone, going Meerutward. Did not the 
Huzoor see him? That is because he has learned from 
old Tiddu to make others see, but not to see himself. 
But the old man will teach him this also if he is in Meerut 
by dawn. If he is there by dawn he will see the yellow 
fakir who brings the speech that brings more than 
speech.” 

The sing-song ceased; the Belooch was stepping 
briskly back toward Meerut. 

“ You infernal old humbug! ” began Jim Douglas. 

“ The Huzoor does not believe, of course,” remarked 
Tiddu, in the most matter-of-fact creak. “ But Meerut 
is only eight miles off. His other horse can wait; and if 
he does not see the yellow fakir there is no need to open 
the purse-strings.” 

The Englishman looked at his half-seen companion 
admiringly. He was the most consummate scoundrel! 
His blending of mystery and purely commercial com- 
monplace was perfect — almost irresistible. There was 
no reason why he should go on; the groom, halfway, 
had his usual orders to stay till his master came. For 
the rest, it would be pleasant to renew the old pleasant 
memory — pleasant even to renew his acquaintance with 
Tiddu’s guile, which struck him afresh each time he came 
across it. 


THE YELLOW FAKIR. 


177 


He slipped from his horse without a word, and was 
about to pull the reins over her head so as to lead her, 
when Tiddu stopped short. 

“Jhungi will take her to the rest-house, Huzoor, or 
Bhungi. It will be safer so. I have a clean cotton quilt 
in the bundle, and the Huzoor can have my shoes and 
rub his legs in the dust. That will do till dawn.’' 

He gave a jackal’s cry, which was echoed from the 
darkness. 

“ Leave her so, Huzoor! She is safe,” said Tiddu; 
and Jim Douglas, as he obeyed, heard the mare whinny 
softly, as if to a foal, as a shadow came out of the bushes. 
Junghi or Bhungi, no doubt. 

Five minutes after, with a certain unaccountable pleas- 
ure, he found himself walking beside a laden bullock, one 
arm resting on its broad back, his feet keeping step with 
*'the remittent clang of its bell. A strange dreamy com- 
panionship, as he knew of old. And once more the stars 
seemed, after a time, to twinkle in unison with the bell, 
he seemed to forget thought, to forget everything save 
the peaceful stillness around, and his own unresting 
peace. 

So, he and the laden beast went on as one living, 
breathing mortal, till the little shiver of wind came, which 
comes with the first paling of the sky. It was one of 
those yellow dawns, serene, cloudless, save for a puff or 
two of thin gray vapor low down on the horizon, looking 
as if it were smoke from an unseen censer swinging be- 
fore the chariot of the Sun which heads the procession of 
the hours. He was so absorbed in watching the yellow 
light grow to those clouds no bigger than a man’s hand; 
so lost in the strange companionship with the laden beast 
bound to the wheel of Life and Death as he was, yet ask- 
ing no question of the future, that Tiddu’s hand and 
voice startled him. 

“ Huzoor! ” he said. “ The yellow fakir! ” 

They were close on the city of Meerut. The road, 
dipping down to cross a depression, left a bank of yellow 
dust on either side. And on the eastern one, outlined 
against the yellow sunrise, sat a motionless figure. It 
was naked, and painted from head to foot a bright yellow 


17 ^ ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

color. The closed eyes were daubed over so as to hide 
them utterly, and on the forehead, as it is in the image of 
Siva, was painted perpendicularly a gigantic eye, wide, 
set, stony. Before it in the dust lay the beggar’s bowl 
for alms. 

“ The roads part here, Huzoor,” said Tiddu. This 
to the city; that to the cantonments.” 

As he spoke, a handsome young fellow came swagger- 
ing down the latter, on his way evidently to riotous liv- 
ing in the bazaar. Suddenly he paused, his hand went 
up to his eyes as if the rising sun were in them. Then 
he stepped across the road and dropped a coin into the 
beggar’s bowl. Tiddu nodded his head gravely. 

“ That man is wanted, Huzoor. That is why he saw. 
Mayhap he is to give the word.” 

“The word?” echoed Jim Douglas. “You said he 
was dumb ? ” 

“ I meant the trooper, Huzoor. The fakir wanted 
him. To give the word, mayhap. Someone must 
always give it.” 

Jim Douglas felt an odd thrill. He had never thought 
of that before. Someone, of course, must always give 
the word, Jhe speech which brought more than speech. 
What would it be? Something soul-stirring, no doubt; 
for Humanity had a theory that an angel must trouble 
the waters and so give it a righteous cause for stepping 
in to heal the evil. 

But what a strange knack the old man had of stirring 
the imagination with ridiculous mystery! He felt vexed 
with himself for his own thrill, his own thoughts. “ He 
is a very ordinary ycgi, I should say,” he remarked, look- 
ing toward the yellow sunrise, but the figure was gone. 
He turned to Tiddu again, with real annoyance. “ Well! 
Whoever he is, he cannot want me. And I certainly 
saw him.” 

“I willed the Huzoor to see!” replied Tiddu with 
calm effrontery. 

Jim Douglas laughed. The man was certainly a con- 
summate liar; there was never any possibility of catch- 
ing him out. 


THE WORD WENT FORTH. 


179 


CHAPTER VIL 

THE WORD WENT FORTH. 

The Procession of the Hours -had a weary march of 
it between the yellow sunrise and the yellow sunset 
of the loth of May, 1857; for the heavens were 
as brass, the air one flame of white heat. The 
mud huts of the sepoy lines at Meerut looked and 
felt like bricks baking in a kiln; ydtf the torpor which the 
remorseless glare of noon brings even to native humanity 
was exchanged for a strange restlessness. The doors 
stood open for the most part, and men wandered in and 
out aimlessly, like swarming bees before the queen ap- 
pears. In the bazaar, in the city too, crowds drifted 
hither and thither, thirstily, as if it were not the fast 
month of Rumzan, when- the Mohammedans are denied 
the solace of even a drop of water till sundown. Drifted 
hither and thither, pausing to gather closer at a hint of 
novelty, melting away again, restless as ever. 

Mayhap it was but the inevitable reaction after the 
stun and stupefaction of Saturday, the sudden awaken- 
ing to the result — namely, that eighty-five of the best, 
smartest soldiers in Meerut had been set to toil for ten 
years in shackles because they refused to be defiled, to 
become apostate. On the other hand, the old Baharupa 
may have been right about the yellow fakir: the silent, 
motionless figure might have set folk listening and wait- 
ing for the word. It was to be seen by all now sitting 
outside the city; at least Jim Douglas saw it several 
times. Saw, also, that the beggar’s bowl was fuller and 
fuller; but the impossibility of asserting that all the 
passers-by saw it, as he did, haunted him, once the idea 
presented itself to his mind. It was always so with 
Tiddu’s mysteries; they were no more susceptible to dis- 
proof than they were to proof. You could waste time, 
of course, in this case by waiting and watching, but in 
the natural course of events half the passers-by would go 
on as if they saw nothing, and only one in a hundred or 
so would give an alms. So what would be the good? 


:8o ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

No one else, however, among the masters troubled 
himself to find a cause for the restlessness; no one 
even knew of it. To begin with, it was a Sunday, so 
that even the bond of a common labor was slackened be- 
tween the dark faces and the light. Then a mile or more 
of waste deserted land and dry watercourse lay on either 
side of the broad white road which split the cantonment 
into halves. So that the North knew nothing of what 
was going on in the South, and while men were swarm- 
ing like bees in the sun on one side, on the other they 
were shut up in barracks and bungalows gasping with 
the heat, longing for the sun to set, and thanking their 
stars when the chaplain’s memo came round to say that 
the evening service had been postponed for half an hour 
to allow the seething, glowing air to cool a little. 

It was not the heat, however, which prevented Major 
Erlton from taking his usual siesta. It was thought. 
He had come over from Delhi on inspection duty a few 
days before and had intended returning that evening; 
but the morning’s post had brought him a letter which 
upset all his plans. Alice Gissing’s husband had come 
out a fortnight earlier than they had expected, and was 
already on his way up-country. The crisis had come, 
the decision must be made. It was not any hesitation, 
however, which sent the heavy handsome face to rest in 
the big strong hands as he rested his elbows on a sheet 
of blank paper. He had made up his mind on the very 
day when Alice Gissing had first told him why she could 
not go back to her husband. The letter forwarding his 
papers for resignation was already sealed on the table 
beside him; and the surprise was rather a gain than 
otherwise. Alice could join him at Meerut now, and 
they could slip away together to Cashmere or any out 
of the way place where there was shooting. That would 
save a lot of fuss; and the fear of fuss was the only one 
which troubled the Major, personally. He hated to 
know that .even his friends would wonder — for the matter 
of that those who knew him best would wonder most — 
why he was chucking everything for a woman he had 
been mixed up with for years. Yet he had found no 
difficulty in writing that official request; none in telling 


THE WORD WENT FORTH. i8i 

little Allie to join him as soon as she could. It was this 
third letter which could not be written. He took up the 
pen more than once, only to lay it down again. He 
began, “ My dear Kate,” once, only to tear the sheet to 
pieces. How could he call her his when he was going 
to tell her that she was his no longer; that the best thing 
she could do was to divorce him and marry some other 
chap to be a father to the boy. 

The thought sent the head into the hands again; for 
Herbert Erlton was a healthy animal and loved his off- 
spring by instinct. He had, in truth, a queer upside- 
down notion of his responsibilities toward them. If the 
fates had permitted it he would have done his best by 
Freddy. Shown him the ropes, given him useful tips, 
stood by his inexperience, paid his reasonable debts — 
always supposing he had the wherewithal. 

Then how was he to tell Kate all the ugly story. He 
had left her in his thoughts so completely, she had been 
so far apart from him for so many years now, that he 
hesitated over telling her the bare facts, just as — being 
conventionally a perfectly well-bred man — he would 
have hesitated how to tell them to any innocent woman 
of his acquaintance. Rather more so, for Kate — though 
she was sentimental enough, he told himself, for two — 
had never been sensible and looked things in the face. 
If she had, it might all have been different. Then with a 
rush came the remembrance that Allie did — that she 
knew him every inch and was yet willing to come with 
him. While he? He would stick through thick and 
thin to little Allie, who never made a man feel a fool or 
a beast. Something in the last assertion seemed to 
harden his heart; he took up his pen and began to 
write : 

“My Dear Kate: I call you that because I can’t 
think of any other beginning that doesn’t seem foolish; 
but it means nothing, and I only want to tell you that 
circumstances over which we had no control (he felt 
rather proud of this circumlocution for a circumstance 
due entirely to his volition) make it necessary for me to 
leave you. It is the only course open to me as a gentle- 


i 82 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


man. Besides I want to, for I love Alice Gissing dearly. 
I am going to marry her, D. V., as soon as I can. Mr. 
Gissing may make a fuss — it is a criminal offense, you 
see, in India — but we shall tide over that. Of course 
you could prevent me too, but you are not that sort. So 
I have sent in my papers. It is a pity, in a way, because 
I liked this work. But it is only a two-year appoint- 
ment, and I should hate the regiment after it. For the 
rest, I am not such a fool as to think you will mind> 
except for the boy. It is a pity for him too, but it isn’t 
as if he were a girl, and the other may be. It will do no 
good to say I’m sorry. Besides, I don’t think it is all 
my fault, and I know you will be happier without me. 

“ Yours sincerely, 

“ Herbert Erlton. 

“ P. S. — It’s no use crying over spilled milk. I believe 
you used to think I would get the regiment some day, 
but they would never have given it to me. I made a bit 
of a spurt lately, but it couldn’t have lasted to the finish, 
and after all, that is the win or the lose in a race. 

“ H. E.” 

The postscript was added after re-reading the rest with 
an uncomfortable remembrance that it was the last letter 
he meant to write to her. Then he threw it ready for the 
post beside the others, and lay down feeling that he had 
done his duty. And as he dozed off his own simile 
haunted him. From start to finish! How few men 
rode straight all the way; and the poor beggars -who 
came to grief over the last fence weren’t so far behind 
those who came in for the clapping. It was the finish 
that did it; that was the win or the lose. But he would 
run straight with little Allie — straight as a die! So he 
lost consciousness in a glow of virtuous content with the 
future, and joined the whole of the northern half of 
Meerut in their noontide slumbers; for the future out- 
look, if not exactly satisfying, was not sufficiently 
dubious to keep it awake. 

But in the southern half, humanity was still swarming 
in and out, waiting, listening. In one of the mud-huts. 


THE WORD WENT FORTH. 


183 

however, a company of men gathered within closed 
doors had been listening to some purpose. Listening 
to an eloquent speaker, the accredited agent of a down- 
country organization. He had arrived in Meerut a day 
or two before, and had held one meeting after another in 
the lines-, doing his utmost to prevent any premature 
action; for the fiat of the leaders was that there should 
be patience till the 31st of May. Then, not until then, 
a combined blow for India, for God, for themselves, 
might be struck with chance of success. 

“ Ameen! ” assented one old man who had come with 
him. An old man in a huge faded green turban with 
dyed red hair and beard, and with a huge green waist- 
band holding a curved scimitar. Briefly, a Ghazee or 
Mohammedan fanatic. “ Patience, all ye faithful, till 
Sunday, the 31st of May. Then, while the hell-doomed 
infidels are at their evening prayer, defenseless, fall on 
them and slay. God will show the right! This is the 
Moulvie’s word, sent by me his servant. Give the Great 
Cry, brothers, in the House of the Thief! Smite ye of 
Meerut, and we of Lucknow will smite also.” His wild 
uncontrolled voice rolled on in broad Arabic vowels from 
one text to another. 

“ And we of Delhi will smite also,” interrupted the 
wearer of a rakish Moghul cap impatiently. “ We will 
smite for the Queen.” 

“The Queen?” echoed an older man in the same 
dress. “ What hath the Sheeah woman to do with the 
race of Timoor? ” 

“ Peace! peace! brothers,” put in the agent with 
authority. “ These times are not for petty squabbles. 
Let who be the heir, the King must reign.” 

A murmur of assent rose; but it was broken in upon 
by a dissentient voice from a group of troopers at the 
door. 

“Then our comrades are to rot in jail till the 31st? 
That suits not the men of the 3d Cavalry.” 

“ Then let the 3d Cavalry suit itself,” retorted the 
agent fearlessly. “We can stand without them. Can 
they stand without us? Answer me, men of the 20th; 
men of the nth.” 


1 84 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ There be not many of us here,’' muttered a voice 
from a dark corner; ‘‘ and maybe we could hold our own 
against the lot of you.” It was Soma’s, and the man 
beside him frowned. But the agent who knew every 
petty jealousy, every private quarrel of regiment with 
regiment, went on remorselessly. ” Let the 3d swagger 
if it choose. The Rajpoots and Brahmins know how to 
obey the stars. The 31st is the auspicious day. That is 
the word. The word of the King, of the Brahmins, of 
India, of God! ” 

“The 31st! Then slay and spare not! It is jehad! 
Deen! Deen! Futteh Mohammed! ” said the Ghazee. 

The cry, though a mere whisper, electrified the 
Mohammedans, and an older man in the group of dis- 
sentients at the door muttered that he could hold his 
troop — if others who had risen to favor quicker than 
he — could hold theirs. 

“ ril hold mine, Khan sahib, without thine aid,” re- 
torted a very young smart-looking native officer angrily. 
“ That is if the women will hold their tongues. But, 
look you, my troop held the hardest hitters in the 3d. 
And Nargeeza’s fancy is of those in jail. Now Nargeeza 
leads all the other town-women by the nose; and that 
means much to men who be not all saints like Ghazee- 
jee yonder, who ties the two ends of life with a ragged 
green turban and a bloody banner! ” 

“ And I see not why our comrades should stay yonder 
for three weeks, when there is but a native guard to hold 
them, and I and mine have made the Sirkar what it is,” 
put in a man with arrogance and insolence written on 
him from top to toe; a true type of the pampered Brah- 
min sepoy. 

“ Rescue them if thou wilt, Havildar-yV^,” sneered the 
agent. “ But the man who risks our plot will be held 
traitor by the Council. And the men of the nth,” he 
added sharply, turning to the corner whence Soma’s 
voice had come, “ may remember that also. They have 
had the audacity to stipulate for their Colonel’s life.” 

“ For our officers lives, baboo- jee,” came the voice 
again, bold as the agent’s. “ We of the i ith kill not men 
who have led us to victory. And if this be not under- 


THE WORD WENT FORTH. 185 

Stood I, Soma, Yadubansi, go straight to the Colonel 
and tell him. We are not butchers in the iith: Oh, 
priest of Kali! ” 

The agent turned a little pale. He did not care to have 
his calling known, and he saw at a glance that his chal- 
lenger had the reckless fire of hemp in his eyes. He 
had indeed been drinking as a refuge from the memory 
of the sweeper’s broom and from the taunts and threats 
which had been used to force him to join the malcon- 
tents. Such a man was not safe to quarrel with, nor was 
the audience fit for a discussion of that topic; there was 
already a ^tir in it, and mutterings that butchery was one 
thing, fighting another. 

“ Pay thy Colonel’s journey home if thou likest, Raj- 
poot-;V(7,” he said with a sneer. “Ay! and give him 
pension, too! All we want is to get rid of them. And 
there will be plenty of loot left when the’ pension is paid, 
for it is to be each man for himself when the time comes. 
Not share and share alike with every coward who will 
not risk his life in looting, as it is with the Sirkar.” 

It was a deft red-herring to these born mercenaries, 
and no more was said. But as the meeting dispersed by 
twos and threes to avoid notice, the agent stood at the 
door giving the word in a final whisper : 

“ Patience till the 31st.” 

“ Willst take a seat in our carriage, Ghazee-;V^,” said 
a fat native officer as he passed out. “ ’Tis at thy service 
since thou goest to Delhi and we must return to-night. 
God knows we have done enough to damn us at Meerut 
over this court-martial! But what would you? If we 
had not given the verdict for the Huzoors there would 
have been more of us in jail. So we bide our time like 
the rest. And to-morrow there is the parade to hear the 
sentence on the martyrs at Barrackpore. Do the sahibs 
think us cowards that they drive us so? God smite their 
souls to hell ! ” 

“ He will, brother, he will. The Cry shall yet be heard 
in the House of the Thief,” said the Ghazee fiercely, his 
eyes growing dreamy with hope. He was thinking of a 
sunset near the Goomtee more than a year ago, when he 
had bid every penny he possessed for his own, in vain. 


1 86 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

“Well, come if thou likest,” continued the native 
officer. “ That camel of thine yonder is lame, and we 
have room. Twas Erlton sahib’s dak by rights, but he 
goes not; so we got it cheap instead of an ekka.” 

“Erlton sahib’s!” echoed the fanatic, clutching at 
his sword. “ Ay! Ay! ” he went on half to himself. “ I 
knew he was at Delhi, and the men who laughed, and the 
other men who would not listen. Nay! Soubadar-;V^/ 

I travel in no carriage of Erlton sahib’s. My camel 
will serve me.” 

“ ’Tis the vehicle of saints,” sneered the owner of the 
rakish Moghul cap. “ Verily, when I saw thee mounted 
on it, Ghazee-;>^, I deemed thee the Lord Ali.” 

“ Peace! scoffer,” interrupted the fanatic, “ lest I mis- 
take thee for an infidel.” 

The Moghul ducked hastily from a wild swing of the 
curved sword, and moved off swearing such firebrands 
should be locked up ; they might set light to the train ere 
wise men had it ready. 

“ No fear! ” said the smart young troop-sergeant of 
the 3d. “ Who listens to such as he save those whose 

blood has cooled, and those whose blood was never hot? 
The fighters listen to women who can make their flame.” 

Soma, who was drifting with them toward the drug- . 
shops of the city, scowled fiercely. “ That may suit thee, 
Mussulman-;>^, who art casteless, and can sup shares 
with sweeper women in the bazaar; but the Rajpoot 
needs no harlot to teach him courage. The mothers of 
his race have enough and to spare.” 

''Loll! hark to him!” jibed' the corporal of the 20th, 
who was sticking to his prey like a leech, “ Ask him, 
Havildar-;>c, if he prefers a sweeper’s broom to a 
sweeper’s lips.” 

There was a roar of laughter from the group. 

Soma gave a beast-like cry, looked as though he were 
about to spring, then — recognizing his own helpless- 
ness — flung himself away from all companionship and 
walked home moodily. They had driven him too far; 
he would not stand it. If that tale was spread abroad, 
he would side with the Huzoors who did not believe such 
things — with the Colonel who understood, like the Colo- 


THE WORD WENT FORTH. 187 

nel before him who had gone home on pension; for the 
nth had a cult of their officers. And these fools, his 
countrymen, thought to make him a butcher by threats; 
sought to make him take revenge for what deserved 
revenge. For it was the Sirkar’s fault — it was the 
Sirkar’s fault. 

In truth a strange conflict was going on in this man’s 
mind, as it was in many another such as his, between 
inherited traditions, making alike for loyalty and dis- 
loyalty. There was the knowledge of his forbears’ pride 
in their victories, in their sahibs who had led them to 
victory, and the knowledge of their pride in the veriest 
jot or tittle of ceremonial law. A dull, painful amaze filled 
him that these two broad facts should be in conflict ; that 
those, whom in a way he felt to be part of his life, should 
be in league against him. All the more reason, that, 
for showing them who were the better rnen; for standing- 
up fairly to a fair fight. By all the delights of Swarga! 
he would like to stand up fair, even to the master — the 
man who, in his presence, had shot three tigers on foot 
in half an hour — the demi-god of his hunting yarns for 
years. 

And then, suddenly, he remembered that this hero of 
his might be shot like a dog on the 31st at Delhi — would 
be shot, since he was certain to be in the front of any- 
thing. Soma’s heat-fevered, hemp-drugged brain seized 
on the thought fiercely, confusedly. That must not be! 
The master, at any rate, must be warned. He would go 
down when the sun set, and see if he were still where 
he had been the day before; and if not? — Why! then it 
must be two days leave to Delhi! He was not going to 
butcher the master for all the sweepers’ brooms in the 
world. Fools! those others, to think to drive him. 
Soma, Chundrabansi! So he flung himself on his string 
bed to sleep till the sunset came, and the tyranny of heat 
be overpast. 

But there was one, close by in the cantonment bazaar, 
who waited for sunset with no desire for it to bring cool- 
ness. She meant it to bring heat instead. And this was 
Nargeeza the courtesan. She was past the prime of 
everything save vice, a woman who, once all-powerful. 


i88 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


could not hope for many more lovers; and hers, a man 
rich beyond most soldiers, lay in jail for ten years. No 
wonder, then, that as she lay half-torpid among a heap 
of tawdry finery in the biggest house of the lane set apart 
by regulation for such as she, there was all the venom of 
a snake in her drowsy brain. The air of the low room 
was deadly with a scent of musk and roses and orange- 
blossom-oil. The half-dozen girls and women who 
lounged in it, or in the balcony, were half undressed, their 
bare brown arms flung carelessly upon dirty mats and 
torn quilts. Their harvest time was not yet; that would 
come later when sunsetting brought the men frqm the 
lines. This, then, was the time for sleep. But Nargeeza, 
recognized head of the recognized regimental women, 
sat up suddenly and said sharply: 

“ Thou didst not tell me, Nasiban, what Gulabi said. 
Is she of us? 

A drowsy lump of a girl stirred, yawned, and answered 
sullenly, “ Yea! Yea! she is of us. She claims our right 
to kiss no cowards — no cowards.” 

The voice tailed off into sleep again, and Nargeeza lay 
back with a smile of content to wait also. So, after a 
time, folk began to stir in the bungalows. First in the 
rest-house, where, oddly enough, Jim Douglas occupied 
one end of the long low barrack of a place, and Herberl 
Erlton the other. The former having come back from 
the city in an evil temper to get something to eat before 
starting for Delhi, had found his horse, the Belooch, 
unaccountably indisposed; Jhungi, who had brought her 
there safely, professing entire ignorance of the cause, or, 
on pressure, suggesting the nefarious Bhungi. Tiddu 
asserting — with a calm assumption of superior knowl- 
edge, for which Jim Douglas could have kicked him — 
.that the mare had been drugged. As if anybody could 
not tell that? And that the drug had been opium. To 
which the old scoundrel had replied affably that in that 
case the effects would pass off during the night, and the 
mare be none the worse; no .one be any the worse, since 
the Huzoor was quite comfortable in Meerut, and could 
easily stay another day. It was a nicer place than Delhi ; 


THE WORD WENT FORTH. 


189 


there were more sahibs in it, and the presence of the 
“ ghora logiie ” (i. e., English soldiers) kept everyone 
virtuous. 

His hearer looked at him sharply. Here was some 
other trick, no doubt, to cozen him out of another five 
rupees; for something, maybe, as useless as the yellow 
fakir. And there was really no reason for delay; it was 
only a case of walking the mare quietly. For the matter 
of that, the exercise would do her good, and help her to 
work off the effects of the drug. So he would start 
sooner, that was all. Nevertheless he gave an envious 
look at the Major’s little Arab in the next stall. It 
would most likely be marching back to Delhi that night, 
and he would have given something to ride it again. But 
as he was returning from the stables, he learned by 
chance that the Major’s plans had been altered. An 
orderly was coming from his room with letters and a 
telegram, and knowing the man, Jim Douglas asked him 
to take one for him also, and so save trouble. It did not 
take long to write, for it only contained one word, “ No.” 
It was in reply to one he had received a few hours before 
from the military magnate, asking him to do some more 
work. And as the orderly stowed away the accompany- 
ing rupee carefully, Jim Douglas — ^waiting to make over 
the paper — saw quite involuntarily that the Major’s tele- 
gram also consisted of one word, “ Come.” And he saw 
the name also; big, black, bold, in the Major’s handwrit- 
ing. “ Gissing, Delhi.” 

He gave a shrug of his shoulders as he turned away to 
get ready for his start. So that was it; and even Kate 
Erlton had not benefited by his sacrifice. No one had 
benefited. There had been no chance for any of them. 

Come ! ” That ended Kate Erlton’s hope of conceal- 
ment, the Major’s career. No! ” That ended his own 
vague ambitions. Still, it was a strange chance in itself 
that those two laconic renunciations should go the same 
day by the same hand. No stranger telegrams, he 
thought, could have left Meerut, or were likely to leave 
it that night. 

He was wrong, however. An hour or two lat^r, the 


190 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


strangest telegram that ever came as sole warning to an 
Empire that its very foundation was attacked, left Meerut 
for Agra; sent by the postmaster’s niece. 

“ The Cavalry,” it ran, “ have risen, setting fire to their 
own houses besides having killed and wounded all Euro- 
pean officers and soldiers they could find near the lines. 
If Aunt intends starting to-morrow, please detain her, as 
the van has been prevented from leaving the station.” 

For, as Jim Douglas paced slowly down the Mall to- 
ward Delhi, and Soma, his buckles gleaming, his belts 
pipe-clayed to dazzling whiteness, was swaggering 
through the bazaar on his way to the rest-house with his 
word of warning — the word which would have given Jim 
Douglas the power for which he had longed — another 
word was being spoken in that lane of lust, where the 
time had come for which Nargeeza had waited all day. 
But she did not say it. It was only a big trollop of a girl 
hung with jasmine garlands, painted, giggling. 

“We of the bazaar kiss no cowards,” she said deris^ 
ively. “ Where are your comrades? ” 

The man to whom she said it, a young dissolute-faced 
trooper, dressed in the loose rakish muslins beloved of 
his class — the very man, perchance, who had gone city- 
ward that morning, and dropped an alms into the yellow 
fakir’s bowl — stood for a second in the stifling, madden- 
ing atmosphere of musk and rose and orange-blossom; 
stood before all those insolent allurements, balked in his 
passion, checked in his desires. Then, with an oath, he 
dashed from her insulting charms ; dashed into the street 
with a cry: 

“To horse! To horse, brothers! To the jail! to our 
comrades ! ” 

The word had been spoken. The speech which brings 
more than speech, had come from the painted lips of a 
harlot. 

The first clang of the church bell — which the chaplain 
had forgotten to postpone — came faintly audible across 
the dusty plain, making other men pause and look at 
each other. Why not? It was the hour of prayer — the 
appointed time. Their comrades could be easily res- 
cued— there was but a native guard at the jail, And 


THE WORD WENT FORTH, 191 

hark! from another pair of painted derisive lips came 
the same retort, flung from a balcony. 

“ Trra! We of the bazaar kiss no cowards!” 

“ To horse! To horse! Let the comrades be rescued 
first; and then ” 

The word had been spoken. Nothing so very soul- 
stirring after all. No consideration of caste or religion, 
patriotism or ambition. Only a taunt from a pair of 
painted lips. 


BOOK III. 

FROM DUSK TO DAWN. 


CHAPTER 1 . 

NIGHT. 

the rescue! To the rescue!’^ 

The cry was no more than that at first. To the rescue 
of the eighty-five martyrs, the blows upon whose shackles 
still seemed to echo in their comrades’ ears. Even so, 
the cry heard by Soma as he passed through the bazaar 
meant insubordination — the greatest crime he knew — and 
sent him flying to his own lines to give the alarm. Sent 
him thence by instinct, oblivious of that promise for the 
31st — or perhaps mindful of it and seeing in this outburst 
a mere riot — to his Colonel’s house with twenty or thirty 
comrades clamoring for their arms, protesting that with 
them they would soon settle matters for the Huzoors. 
But suspicion was in the air, and even the Colonel of the 
iith could not trust all his regiment. Ready for church, 
he flung himself on his horse and raced back with the 
clamoring men to the lines. 

And by this time there was another race going on. 
Captain Craigie’s faithful troop of the 3d Cavalry were 
racing after his shout of “ Dau-ro! bhai-yan, Dau-ro! ” 
(Ride, brothers, ride!) toward the jail in the hopes of 
averting the rescue of their comrades. For, as the 
records are careful to say, he and his troop “ were dressed 
as for parade ” — not a buckle or a belt awry — ready to 
combat the danger before others had grasped it, and 
swiftly, without a thought, went for the first offenders. 
Too late! the doors were open, the birds flown. 


192 


NIGHT, 


193 


What next was to be done? What but to bring the 
troop back without a defaulter — despite the taunts of 
escaping convicts, the temptations of comrades flushed 
by success — to the parade ground for orders. But there 
was no one to give them, for when the 3d Cavalry led the 
van of mutiny at Meerut their Colonel was in the Euro- 
pean cantonment as field officer of the week, and there 
he “ conceived it his duty to remain.” Perhaps rightly. 
And it is also conceivable that his absence made no dif- 
ference, since it is, palpably, an easier task to make a 
regiment mutiny than to bring it back tQ its allegiance. 

Meanwhile the officers of the other regiments, the i ith 
and the 20th, were facing their men boldly; facing the 
problem how to keep them steady till that squadron of 
the Carabineers should sweep down, followed by a com- 
pany or two of the Rifles at the double, and turn the 
balance in favor of loyalty. It could not be long now. 
Nearly an hour had passed since the first wild stampede 
to the jail. The refuse and rabble of the town were by 
this time swarming out of it, armed with sticks and 
staves; the two thousand and odd felons released from 
the jails were swarming in, seeking weapons. The dan- 
ger grew every second, and the officers of the nth, 
though their men stood steady as rocks behind them, 
counted the moments as they sped. For on the other 
side of the road, on the parade ground of the 20th regi- 
ment, the sepoys, ordered, as the nth had been, to turn 
out unarmed, were barely restrained from rushing the 
bells by the entreaties of their native officers; the Euro- 
pean ones being powerless. 

“ Keep the men steady for me,” said Colonel Finnis to 
his second in command; “ Til go over and see what I 
can do.” 

He thought the voice of a man loved and trusted by 
one regiment, a man who could speak to his sepoys with- 
out an interpreter, might have power to steady another. 

Jai bahdduri! (Victory to courage!) muttered Soma 
under his breath as he watched his Colonel canter quietly 
into danger. And his finger hungered on that hot May 
evening for the cool of the trigger which was denied him. 

Jai bahdduri! A murmur seemed to run through the 


194 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

ranks, they dressed themselves firmer, squarer. Colonel 
Finnis, glancing back, saw a sight to gladden any com- 
mandant’s heart. A regiment steady as a rock, drawn 
up as for parade, absolutely in hand despite that strange 
new sound in the air. The sound which above all 
others gets into men’s brains like new wine. The sound 
of a file upon fetters — the sound of escape, of freedom, of 
license! It had been rising unchecked for half an hour 
from the lines of the 3d, whither the martyrs had been 
brought in triumph. It was rising now from the bazaar, 
the city, from every quiet corner where a prisoner might 
pause to hack and hammer at his leg-irons with the first 
tool he could find. 

What was one man’s voice against this sound, 
strengthened as it was by the cry of a trooper galloping 
madly from the north shouting that the English were in 
sight? What more likely? Had not ample time passed 
for the whole British garrison to be coming with fixed 
bayonets and a whoop, to make short work of unarmed 
men who had not made up their minds? 

That must be no longer! 

“Quick! brothers. Quick! Kill! Kill! Down with 
the officers! Shoot ere the white faces come!” 

It was a sudden wild yell of terror, of courage, of sheer 
cruelty. It drowned the scream of the Colonel’s horse 
as it staggered under him. It drowned his steady ap- 
pealing voice, his faint sob, as he threw up his hands at 
the next shot, and fell, the first victim to the Great 
Revolt. 

It drowned something else also. It drowned Soma’s 
groan of wild, half-stupefied, helpless rage as he saw his 
Colonel fall, — the saliib who»had led him to victory, — the 
sahib whom he loved, whom he was pledged to save. 
And his groan was echoed by many another brave man 
in those ranks, thus brought face to face suddenly with 
the necessity for decision. 

“ vSteady, men, steady ! ” 

That call, in the alien voice, echoed above the whist- 
ling of the bullets as they found a billet here and there 
among the ranks; for the men of the 20th, maddened by 
that fresh murder, now shot wildly at their officers. 


NIGHT. 


195, 


^‘Steady, men! Steady, for God’s sake!” 

The entreaty was not in vain; they were steady still. 
Ay, steady, but unarmed! Steady as a rock still, but 
helpless ! 

Helpless, unarmed! By all the gods all men wor- 
shiped, men could not suffer that for long, when bullets 
were whistling into their ranks. 

So there was a waver at last in the long line. A faint 
tremble, like the tremble of a curving wave ere it falls. 
Then, with a confused roar, an aimless sweeping away of 
all things in its path, it broke as a wave breaks upon a 
pebbly shore. 

“To arms, brothers! Quick! fire! fire!” 

Upon whom?* God. knows! Not on their officers, 
for these were already being hustled to the rear, hustled 
into safety. 

“ Quick, brothers, quick ! Kill ! Kill ! ” 

The cry rose on all sides now, as the wave of revolt 
surged on. But there was none left to kill; for the work 
was done in the 20th lines, arid no new white faces came 
to stem the tide. Two thousand and odd Englishmen 
who might have stemmed it being still on the parade- 
ground by the church, waiting for orders, for ammu- 
nition, for a General, for everything save — thank 
Heaven! — for courage. 

So the wave surged on, to what end it scarcely knew, 
leaving behind it groups of sullen, startled faces. 

“Whose fault but their own?” muttered an old man 
fiercely; an old man whose son served beside him in the 
regiment, whose grandson was on the roster for future 
enlistment. “ Why were we left helpless as new-born 
babes? ” 

“Why?” echoed a scornful voice from the gathering 
clusters of undecided men, waiting, with growing fear, 
hope, despair, or triumph, for what was to come next: 

* This question is cJne which must be asked as we look back through 
the years on this pitiful spectacle of the loyal regiment, unarmed, facing 
the disloyal one shooting down its officers. Briefly, on whom would the 
seventy men of the nth, who never left the colors, the hundred and 
twenty men who returned to them after the short night of tumult was 
over, have fired if a company of English troops had come up to turn the 
balance in favor of loyalty ? 


196 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


waiting, briefly, for the master to come, or not to come. 
“Why? because they were afraid of us; because their 
time is past, baba jee. Let them go! ” 

Let them go. Incomprehensible suggestion to that 
brave worn stiff in the master’s service; so, with a great 
numb ache in an old heart, an old body strode away, 
elbowing younger ones from its path savagely. 

“ Old Dhurma hath grown milksop,” jeered one 
spectator; “ that is with doing dry-nurse to his Captain’s 
babies.” 

The words caught the old man’s ear and sent a quick 
decision to his dazed face. The baba logue! Yes; they 
must be safeguarded; for ominous smoke began to rise 
from neighboring roof-trees, and a strange note of sheer 
wild-beast ferocity grew to the confused roar of the 
drifting, shifting, still aimless crowd. 

“Quick, brothers, quick! Kill, root and branch! 
Why dost linger? Art afraid? Afraid of cowards? 
Quick — kill everyone ! ” 

The cry, boastful, jeering, came from a sepoy in the 
uniform of the 20th, who, with a face ablaze with mad ex- 
ultation, forced his way forward. Th^re was something 
in his tone which seemed to send a shiver of fresh ex- 
citement through his comrades, for they paused in their 
strange, aimless tumult, paused and listened to the jeers, 
the reproaches. 

“What! art cowards too?” he went on. “Then fol- 
low me. For I began it — I fired the first shot — I killed 
the first infidel. I ” 

The boast never ended, for above it came a quicker cry: 

“Kill, kill, kill the traitor! Kill the man who 
betrayed us.” 

There was a rush onward toward the boastful, arrogant 
voice, the report of half a dozen muskets, and the crowd 
surged on to revolt over the body of the man who had 
fired the first shot of the mutiny. 

For it was a strange crowd indeed; most of it power- 
less for good or ill, sheep without a shepherd, wandering 
after the rabble of escaped convicts and the refuse of the 
bazaars as they plundered and fired the houses. Joining 
in the license helplessly, drifting inevitably to violence, 


NIGHT. 


197 


SO that some looked on curiously, unconcernedly, while 
others, maddened by the smell of blood, the sounds of 
murder, dragged helpless Englishmen and Englishwomen 
from their carriages and did them to death savagely. 

But there were more like Soma, who, as the darkness 
deepened and the glare and the dire confusion and dis- 
may grew, stood aloof from it voluntarily, waiting, with 
a certain callousness, to see if the master would come, 
or if folk said true when they declared his time was 
past, his day done. 

Where was he? He should have come hours ago, 
irresistible, overwhelming. But there was no sign. Not 
a hint of resistance, save every now and again a clatter 
of hoofs through . the darkness, an alien voice calling 

Maro ! Maro ! ” to those behind him, and a fierce howl 
of an echo, “ Maro! Maro! Ma-roh! ” from the faithful 
troop. For Captain Craigie, finding none to help him, 
had changed his cry. It was “ kill, kill, kill ’’ now. And 
the faithful troop obeyed orders. 

Soma when he heard it gave a great sigh. If there had 
been more of that sort of thing he would dearly have 
loved to be in it; but the other was butchery. So he 
wandered alone, irresolute, drifting northward from the 
dire confusion and dismay, and crossing the Mall to ques- 
tion a sentry of his own regiment as to what had hap- 
pened to the masters. But the man replied by eager 
questions as to what had happened to the servants. And 
they both agreed that if the two thousand could not quell 
a riot it would be idle to help them, the Lord’s hand be- 
ing so palpably against them. 

Nevertheless, half an hour afterward the sentry still 
waited at his post, and the guard over the Treasury 
saluted as if nothing unusual was afoot to a group of 
Englishmen galloping past. 

“ Those men know nothing,” called Major Erl ton to 
another man. “ It can’t be so bad. Surely something 
can be done ! ” 

“ Something should have been done two hours ago,” 
came a sharp voice. “ However, the troops have started 
at last. If anyone ” 

The remainder was lost in the clatter. But more than 


igS 01^ THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

one man’s voice had been lost in those two hours at 
Meerut on the loth of May, 1857; indeed, everything 
seems to have been lost save — thank Heaven once more! 
— personal courage. 

It was now near eight o’clock, and Soma, skulking 
by the Mall, midway between the masters and the men, 
still irresolute, still uncertain, heard the first cry of “To 
Delhi! to Delhi!” which, as the night wore on, was to 
echo so often along that road. The cry which came un- 
bidden as the astounding success of the revolt brought 
thoughts of greater success in the future. 

The moon was now rising to silver the dense clouds 
of smoke which hung above the pillars of flame, and 
give an additional horror of light to the orgies going on 
unchecked. It showed him a group of 3d Cavalry troop- 
ers galloping madly down the Mall. It showed them 
the glitter of his buckles, making them shout again: 

“ To Delhi, brother, to Delhi! ” 

Not yet. He had not seen the upshot yet. He must 
go and see what was going on in the lines first. So he 
struck rapidly across the open as the quickest way. And 
then behind him, close upon him, came another 
clatter of hoofs, a very different cry. 

“ Shah hash! bhaiydn. Mdro! Mdro! ” 

Remembering the glitter of his buckles, he turned and 
ran for the nearest cover. None too soon, for a Mo- 
hammedan trooper was after him, shouting “ Been! 
Been! Death to the Hindoo pig! ” For any cry comes 
handy when the blood is up and there is a saber in the 
hand. Soma had to double like a hare, and even so, 
when he paused to get his breath in a tangle of lime- 
bushes there was a graze on his cheek. He had judged 
his distance in one of those doubles a hair’s breadth 
too little. The faint trickle of blood sent a spasm of old 
inherited race hatred through him. The outcaste should 
know that the Hindoo pig shot straight. The means of 
showing this were not far to find in the track of the faith- 
ful troop. Five minutes after. Soma, with a musket 
dragged from beneath something which lay huddled up 
face down upon Mother Earth, was crouching in a belt 
of cover, waiting for the troop to come flashing through 


NIGHT, 


199 


the glare seeking more work. For there had been yells 
and screams enough round that bungalow to stop looting 
there. And as it came number seven bent lower to his 
saddle bow suddenly, then toppled over with a clang. 

“Left wheel! clear those bushes!” came the order 
sharply. But Soma was too quick for that. 

“ Close up. Forward! ” came the order again, as Cap- 
tain Craigie’s faithful troop went on, minus a man, and 
Soma, stumbling breathlessly in safety, knew that the die 
was cast. There was an answering quiver in his veins 
which comes when like blood has been spilled. He knew 
his foe now; he could go to Delhi now. And hark! 
There was a regular rattle of musketry, at last — not the 
dropping fire of mere butchery, but a regular volley. He 
gripped his musket tighter and listened: if the battle had 
begun he must be in it. The air was full of cracklings 
and hissings — an inarticulate background to murderous 
yells, terrified screams, horrors without end ; but no more 
volleys came to tell of retribution. 

What did it mean? Soma held his breath hard. 
Hark! what was that? A louder burst of that recurring 
cry, “ To Delhi! to Delhi! ” as the last stragglers of the 
3d Cavalry, escaping from the lines at the long-delayed 
appearance there of law and order, followed their com- 
rades’ example. 

So that the two thousand coming down in force found 
nothing but the women and children; poor, frightened, 
terror-struck hostages, left behind, inevitably, in the un- 
foreseen success. 

But Soma, knowing nothing of this, waited — ^that grip 
on his musket slackening — for the next volley. But 
none came. Only, suddenly, a bugle call. 

The retreat! 

Incredible! Impossible! Yes! Once, twice, thrice — 
the retreat! The masters were not going to fight at 
Meerut then, and he must try Delhi. So, turning 
swiftly, he cut into the road behind the cry. 

“My God, Craigie! what’s that? Not the retreat, 
surely ! ” came a boyish voice from the clatter and rattle 
of the faithful troop. 

“ Don’t know! Hurry up all you can, Clark! There’s 


200 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


more of the devils needing cold steel yonder, and Fd like 
to see to my wife’s safety as soon as I can. Shah hash 
bhaiydn Ddn-ro. Mdro.” 

“ Maro — Ma — ro — Ma roh ! ” echoed the howl. 

What was the retreat to them when their Captain’s voice 
called to them as brothers? It is idle to ask the question, 
but one cannot help wondering if the Captain’s pocket 
still held the official wigging. For the sake of pictur- 
esque effect it is to be hoped it did. 

Nevertheless it was the retreat. A council of officers 
had suggested that since the mutineers were not in their 
lines, they might be looting the European cantonments. 
So the two thousand returned thither, after firing that one 
volley into a wood, and then finding all quiet to the north 
proceeded to bivouac on the parade ground for the night. 
Not a very peaceful spot, since it was within sight and 
sound of blazing roof-trees and plundering ruffians. 
The worst horrors of that night, we are told, can never 
be known. Perhaps some people beg to differ, holding 
that no horror can exceed the thought of women and 
children hiding like hares on that southern side, creeping 
for dear life from one friendly shadow to another, and 
finding help in dark hands where white ones failed them, 
within reach of that bivouac. But the faithful troop 
did good service, and many another band of independent 
braves also. Captain Craigie, finding leisure at last, 
found also — it is a relief to know — that some of his own 
men had sneaked away from duty to secure his wife’s 
safety when they saw their Captain would not. And if 
anything can relieve the deadly depression which sinks 
upon the soul at the thought of that horrible lack of 
emotion in the north, it is to picture that very different 
scene on the south, when Captain Craigie, seeing his only 
hope of getting the ladies safely escorted to the Euro- 
pean barracks lay in his troopers, brought the two Eng- 
lishwomen out to them and said, simply, “ Here are the 
mems! Save them.” 

And then the two score or so of rough men, swash- 
bucklers by birth and training, flung themselves from 
their horses, cast themselves at those alien women’s feet 
with tears and oaths. Oaths that were kept. 


NIGHT. 


201 


But, on the other side, people were more placid. One 
reads of Englishmen watching “ their own sleeping chil- 
dren with gratitude in their hearts to God,” with wonder- 
ings as “ to the fate of their friends in the south,” with 
anticipations of “ what would befall their Christian breth- 
ren in Delhi on the coming morn, who, less happy than 
ourselves, had no faithful and friendly European bat- 
talions to shield them from the bloodthirsty rage of the 
sepoys.” 

What, indeed? considering that for two hours bands of 
armed men had clattered and marched down that divid- 
ing road crying “ To Delhi, to Delhi! ” But no warning 
of the coming danger had been sent thither; the con- 
fusion had been too great. And now, about midnight, 
the telegraph wires had been cut. Yet Delhi lay but 
thirty miles off along a broad white road, and there were 
horses galore 'and men ready to ride them. Men ready 
for more than that, like Captain Rosser of the Carabin- 
eers, who pleaded for a squadron, a field battery, a troop, 
a gun — anything with which to dash down the road and 
cut off that retreat to Delhi. But everything was refused. 
Lieutenant Mohler of the nth offered to ride, and at 
least give warning; but that offer was also set aside. And 
many another brave man, no doubt, bound to obey 
orders, ate his heart out in inaction that night, possess- 
ing himself in some measure of patience with the thought 
that the dawn must see them on that Delhi road. 

But there was one man who owed obedience to none; 
who was free to go if he chose. And he did choose. 
Ten minutes after it dawned upon Herbert Erlton that 
no warning had been given, that no succor would be sent, 
he had changed horses for the game little Arab which 
had once belonged to Jim Douglas, and was off, to reach 
Delhi as best he could ; for a woman slept in the very city 
itself exposed to the first assault of ruffianism, whom he 
must save, if he could. So he set his teeth and rode 
straight. At first down the road, for the last of the 
fugitives had had a good hour's start of him, and he 
could count on four or five miles plain sailing. Then, 
since his object was to head the procession, and he did 
not dare to strike across country from his utter ignor- 


202 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


ance both of the way or how to ask it, he must give the 
road a half-mile berth or so, and, keeping it as a guide, 
make his way somehow. There were bridges he knew 
where he must hark back to the only path, but he must 
trust to luck for a quiet interval. 

The plan proved more difficult than he expected. 
More than once he found himself in danger from being 
too close to the disciplined tramp which he began to over- 
take about six miles out, and twice he lost himself from 
being too far away, by mistaking one belt of trees for 
another. Still there was plenty of time if the Arab held 
out with his weight. The night was hot and stifling, 
but if he took it coolly till the road was pretty clear again 
he could forge ahead in no time; for the Arab had the 
heels of every horse in Upper India. Major Erlton knew 
this, and bent over to pat its neck with the pride of cer- 
tainty with which he had patted it before many a race 
which it had won for him since it had lost one for Jim 
Douglas. 

So he saved it all he knew ; but he rode fourteen stone, 
and that, over jumps, must tell. There was no other way, 
however, that he knew of, by which an Englishman 
could head that procession of shouting black devils. 

One headed already, as it happened; though he was 
unaware of the supreme importance of the fact, ignorant 
of what lay behind him. Jim Douglas, who had left 
Meerut all unwitting of that rescue party on its way to 
the jail, was still about a mile from the halfway house 
where he expected to find his relay. He . had had the 
greatest difficulty in getting the drugged mare to go 
at all at first, and more than once had regretted having 
refused old Tiddu’s advice. She had pulled herself to- 
gether a bit, but she was in a drip of sweat and still shaky 
on her feet. Not that it mattered, he being close now to 
Begum-a-bad, with plenty of time to reach Delhi by 
dawn. 

He rather preferred to pace slowly, his feet out of the 
stirrups, his slight, easy figure dressed, as it always was 
when in English costume, with the utmost daintiness, 
sitting well back in the saddle. For the glamour of the 
moonlight, the stillness of the night, possessed him. 


NIGHT. 


203 


Everything so soundless save when the jackals began; 
there were a number of them about. A good hunting 
country ; the memory of many a run in his youthful days, 
with a bobbery pack, came to him. After all he had had 
the cream of life in a way. Few men had enjoyed theirs 
more, for even this idle pacing through the stillness was 
a pleasure. Pleasure? How many he had had! His 
mind, reverting from one to another, thought even of 
the owner of the golden curl without regret. She had 
taught him the religion of Love, the adoration of a spot- 
less woman. And Zora, dear little Zora, had taught him 
the purity of passion. And then his mind went back 
suddenly to a scene of his boyhood. A boy of eighteen 
carrying a girl of sixteen who held a string of sea-trout 
midway in a wdde, deep ford. And he heard, as if it had 
been yesterday, the faint splash of the fish as they slipped 
one by one into the water, and felt the fierce fighting of 
the girl to be set down, his own stolid resistance, their 
mutual abuse of each other’s obstinacy and carelessness. 
Yes! he would like to see his sisters again, to know that 
pleasure again. Then his mind took another leap. 
Alice Gissing had not struggled in his hold, because she 
had been in unison with his ideal of conduct; but if she 
had not been, she would have fought as viciously, as un- 
consciously as any sister. Alice Gissing, who He 

settled his feet into the stirrups sternly, thinking of that 
telegram with its one word Come,” which ended so 
many chances. 

Hark! What was that? A clatter of hoofs behind. 
And something more, surely. A jingle, a jangle, familiar 
to a soldier’s ears. Cavalry at the gallop. He drew' 
aside hastily into the shadow of the arcaded trees and 
waited. 

Cavalry, no doubt. And the moon shone on their 
drawn sabers. By Heaven! Troopers of the 3d! 
Plalf a dozen or more! 

“ Shah bash, brothers,” cried one as they swept past, 
“ we can breathe our beasts a bit at Begum-a-bad and 
let the others come up ; no need to reach Delhi ere dawn. 
The Palace would be closed.” 

Delhi! The- Palace! And who were the others? 


204 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

That, if they were coming behind, could soon be settled. 
He turned the Belooch and trotted her back in the 
shadow, straining eyes and ears down the tree-fringed 
road which lay so still, so white, so silent. 

Something on it now, but something silent, almost 
ghost-like. An old man, muttering texts on a lame 
camel which bumped along as even no earthly camel 
ought to bump. That could not be the “ others.” 

No! Surely that was a thud, a jingle, a clatter once 
more. And once more the glitter of cold steel in the 
moonlight. Forty or fifty of the 3d this time, with 
stragglers calling to others still further behind, “ To 
Delhi! To Delhi! To Victory or Death! ” 

As he stood waiting for them all to pass ere he moved, 
his first thought was, that with all these armed men at 
Begum-a-bad there would be no chance of a remount. 
Then came a swift wonder as to what had happened. A 
row of some sort, of course, and these men had fled. Ere 
long, no doubt, a squadron of Carabineers would come 
rattling after them. No! That was not cavalry. That 
was infantry in the distance. Quite a number of mea 
shouting the same cry. Men of the 20th, to judge by 
what he could see. Then the row had been a big one. 
Still the men were evidently fugitives. There was that 
in their recurring cry which told of almost hopeless, 
reckless enthusiasm. 

And how the devil was he to get his remount? It was 
to be at the serai on the roadside, the very place where 
these men would rest. Yet he must get to Delhi, he 
must get there sharp! The possibility that Delhi was 
unwarned did not occur to him; he only thought how 
he might best get there in time for the row which must 
come. Should he wait for the English troops to come 
up, and chance his remount being coolly taken by the 
first rebel who wanted one? Or, Delhi being not more 
than fifteen miles off across country, should he take the 
mare as far as she would go, leave her in some field, and 
do the rest on foot? He looked at his watch. Half-past 
one! Say five miles in half an hour. The mare was good 
for that. Then ten miles, at five miles an hour. The 


NIGHT. 205 

very first glimmer of light should see him at the boat- 
bridge if — if the mare could gallop five miles. 

He must try her a bit slowly at first. So, slipping 
across the broad, white streak of road to the Delhi side, 
he took her slanting through the tall tiger grass, for they 
were close on a nullah which must be forded by a rather 
deep ford lower down, since the bridge was denied to 
him. About half a mile from the road he came upon the 
track suddenly, in the midst of high tamarisk jungle 
growing in heavy sand, and the next moment was on the 
shining levels of the ford. The mare strained on his 
hand, and he paused to let her have a mouthful of water. 
As she stood there, head down, a horseman at the canter 
showed suddenly, silently, behind him, not five yards 
away, his horse hoofs deadened by the sand. 

There was a nasty movement, an ominous click on 
both sides. But the moon was too bright for mistakes; 
the recognition was mutual. 

“ My God, Erlton! ” he cried, as the other, without a 
pause, went on into the ford. “ What’s up? ” 

“ Is it fordable? ” came the quick question, and as Jim 
Douglas for an answer gave a dig with his spurs, the 
Major slackened visibly; his eye telling him that the 
depth could not be taken, save at a walk. 

“ What’s up? ” he echoed fiercely. Mutiny! murder! 
I say, how far am I from Delhi? ” 

“ Delhi! ” cried Jim Douglas, his voice keen as a knife. 
“ By Heaven ! you don’t mean they don’t know — that they 

didn’t wire — but the troops ” 

“ Hadn’t started when I left,” said the Major with a 
curse. “ I came on alone. I say, Douglas,” he gave 
a sharp glance at the other’s mount and there was a 
pause. 

“ My mare’s beat — been drugged,” said Jim Douglas 
in the swish-swish of the water rising higher and higher 
on the horses’ breasts, and there was a curious tone in 
his voice as if he was arguing out something to him- 
self. “ I’ve a remount at the serai, but the odds are a 
hundred to one on. my getting it. I’d given up the 
chance of it. I meant to take the mare as many miles 
across country as she’d go — more, perhaps — for she 


2o6 


THE FACE OE THE WATERS. 


feels like falling at a fence, and walk the rest. I didn’t 

know then ” He paused and looked ahead. The 

water, up to the girths, made a curious rushing sound, 
like many wings. The long, shiny levels stretched away 
softly, mysteriously. The tamarisk jungle reflected in 
the water seemed almost as real as that which edged the 
shining sky. A white egret stood in the shallows; tall, 
ghostly. 

“ I thought it was only — a row.” 

The voice ceased again, the breathings of the tired 
horses had slackened; there was no sound but that rush- 
ing, as of wings, as those two enemies rode side by side, 
looking ahead. Suddenly Jim Douglas turned. 

“ You ride nigh four stone heavier than I do. Major 
Erlton.” 

The heavy, handsome face came round swiftly, all 
broken up with sheer passion. 

“ Do you suppose I haven’t been thinking that ever 
since I saw your cursed face. And you know the coun- 
try, and I don’t. You know the lingo, and I don’t. 
And — and — you’re a deuce sight better rider than I am, 

d n you! But for all that, it’s my chance, I tell you. 

My chance, not yours.” 

A great surge of sympathy swept through the other 
man’s veins. But the water was shallowing rapidly. 
A step or two and this must be decided. 

“ It’s yours more than mine,” he said slowly, but it 
isn’t ours, is it? It’s the others’, in Delhi.” 

Herbert Erlton gave an odd sound between a sob and 
1an oath, a savage jag at the bridle as the little Arab, over- 
weighted, slipped a bit coming up the bank. Then, with- 
out a word, he flung himself from the saddle and set to 
work on the stirrup nearest him. 

How many holes? ” he asked gruffly, as Jim Doug- 
las, with a great ache in his heart, left the Belooch stand- 
ing, and began on the other. 

“ Three; you’re a good bit longer in the leg than I am.” 

“ I suppose I am,” said the Major sullenly; but he held 
the stirrup for the other to mount. . 

Jim Douglas gathered the reins in his hand and 
paused. 


NIGHT, ’ 207 

'‘You had better walk her back. Keep more to the 
left; it’s easier.” 

“ Oh! ril do,” came the sullen voice. “ Stop a bit, the 
curb’s too tight.” 

“ Take it off, will you? he knows me.” 

Major Erlton gave an odd, quick, bitter laugh. “ I 
suppose he does. Right you are.” 

He stood, putting the curb chain into his pocket, 
mechanically, but Jim Douglas paused again. 

“ Good-by! Shake hands on it, Erlton.” 

The Major looked at him resentfully, the big, coarse 
hand came reluctantly; but the touch of that other like 
iron in its grip, its determination, seemed to rouse some- 
thing deeper than anger. 

“ The odds are on you,” he said, with a quiver in his 
voice. “ You’ll look after her — not my wife, she’s in can- 
tonments — but in the city, you know.” 

The voice broke suddenly. He threw out one hand 
in a sort of passionate despair, and walked over to the 
Belooch. 

“ I’ll do everything you could possibly do in my place, 
Erlton.” 

The words came clear and stern, and the next instant 
the thud of the Arab’s galloping hoofs filled the still 
night air. The sound sent a spasm of angry pain 
through Major Erlton. The chance had been his, and 
he had had to give it up because he rode three stone- 
heavier; and, curse it! knew only too well what a dif- 
ference a pound or two might make in a race. 

Nevertheless Jim Douglas had been right when he 
said the chance was neither his nor the Major’s. For' 
less than an hour afterward, riding all he knew, doing 
his level best, the Arab put his foot in a rat hole just as 
his rider was congratulating himself on having headed 
the rebels, just as, across the level plain stretching from 
Ghazeabad to the only bridge over the Jumna, he fancied 
he could see a big shadowy bubble on the western sky, 
the dome of the Delhi mosque. Put its foot in a rat hole 
and came down heavily! The last thing Jim Douglas 
saw was — on the road which he had hoped to rejoin in 
a minute or two — a strange ghostlike figure. An old 


2o8 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


man on a lame camel, which bumped along as even no 
earthly camel ought to bump. 

As he fell, the rushing roar in his ears which heralds 
unconsciousness seemed by a freak of memory to take a 
familiar rhythm: * 

“ La ! il-lah-il-Ullaho ! La ! il-lah-il-Ul-la-ho ! ” 


CHAPTER II. 

DAWN. 

The chill wind which comes with dawn swayed the tall 
grass beyond the river, and ruffling the calm stretches 
below the Palace wall died away again as an oldish man 
stepped out of a reed hut, built on a sandbank beside the 
boat-bridge, and looked eastward. He was a poojari, 
or master of ceremonial at the bathing-place where, 
with the first streak of light, the Hindoos came to per- 
form their religious ablutions. So he had to be up be- 
times, in order to prepare the little saucers of vermilion 
and sandal and sacred gypsum needed in his profession; 
for he earned his livelihood by inherited right of hall- 
marking his fellow-creatures with their caste-signs when 
they came up out of the water. Thus he looked out over 
those eastern plains for the dawn, day after day. He 
looks for it still; this account is from his lips. And this 
dawn there is a cloud of dust no bigger than a man’s hand 
upon the Meerut road. Someone was coming to Delhi. 

But someone was already on the bridge, for it creaked 
and swayed, sending little shivers of ripples down the 
calm stretches. The poojari turned and looked to see 
the cause; then turned eastward again. It was only a 
man on a camel with a strange gait, bumping noiselessly 
even on the resounding wood. That was all. 

The city was still asleep; though here and there a 
widow was stealing out in her white shroud for that 
touch of the sacred river without which she would indeed 
be accursed. And in a little mosque hard by the road 
from the boat-bridge a muezzin was about to give the 


DAWN. 


209 


very first call to prayer with pious self-complacency. 
But someone was ahead of him in devotion, for, upon the 
still air, came a continuous rolling of chanted texts. The 
muezzin leaned over the parapet, disappointed, to see 
who had thus forestalled him at heaven’s gate; stared, 
then muttered a hasty charm. Were there visions about? 
The suggestion softened the disappointment, and he 
looked after the strange, wild figure, half-seen in the 
shimmering, shadowy dawn-light, with growing and 
awed satisfaction. This was no mere mortal, this green- 
clad figure on a camel, chanting texts and waving a 
scimitar. A vision has been vouchsafed to him for his 
diligence; a vision that would not lose in the telling. So 
he stood up and gave the cry from full lungs. 

“ Prayer is more than sleep! than sleep! than sleep! ” 

The echo from the rose-red fortifications took it. up 
first; then one chanting voice after another, monoto- 
nously insistent. 

Prayer is more than sleep ! than sleep ! than sleep ! ” 

And the city woke to another day of fasting. Woke 
hurriedly, so as to find time for food ere the sun rose, 
for it was Rumzan, and one-half of the inhabitants would 
have no drop of water till the sun set, to assuage the 
terrible drought of every living, growing thing beneath 
the fierce May sun. The backwaters lay like a steel 
mirror reflecting the gray shadowy pile of the Palace, the 
poojari — waist-deep in them — was a solitary figure fling- 
ing water to the sacred airts, absorbed in a thorough puri- 
fication from sin. 

Then from the serrated line of the Ridge came a bugle 
followed by the roll of a time gun. All the world was 
waking now. Waking to give orders, to receive them; 
v/aking to mark itself apart with signs of salvation ; wak- 
ing to bow westward and pray for the discomfiture of the 
infidel; waking to stand on parade and salute the royal 
standard of a ruler, helbdoomed inevitably, according 
to both creeds. 

A flock of purple pigeons, startled by the sound, rose 
like cloud flakes on the light gray sky above the glimmer- 
ing dome of the big mosque, then flew westward toward 
the green fields and groves on the further side of the 


210 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


town. For the roll of the gun was followed by a rever- 
berating roll, and groan, and creak, from the boat-bridge. 
The little cloud on the Meerut road had grown into five 
troopers dashing over the bridge at a gallop recklessly. 
The poojari, busy now with his pigments, followed them 
with his eyes as they clattered straight for the city gate. 
They were waking in the Palace now, for a slender hand 
set a lattice wide. Perhaps from curiosity, perhaps 
simply to let in the cool air of dawn. It was a lattice in 
the women’s apartments. 

The poojari went on rubbing up the colors that were to 
bring such spiritual pride to the wearers, then turned to 
look again. The troopers, finding the city gate closed, 
were back again; clamoring for admittance through the 
low arched doorway leading from Selimgarh to the 
Palace. And as the yawning custodian fumbled for his 
keys, the men cursed and swore at the delay ; for in truth 
they knew not what lay behind them. The two thou- 
* sand from Meerut, or some of them, of course. But at 
what distance? 

As a matter of fact only one Englishman was close 
enough to be considered a pursuer, and he was but a 
poor creature on foot, still dazed by a fall, striking 
across country to reach the Raj -ghat ferry below the 
city. For when Jim Douglas had recovered conscious- 
ness it had been to recognize that he was too late to be 
the first in Delhi, and that he could only hope to help in 
the struggle. And that tardily, for the Arab was dead 
lame. 

So, removing its saddle and bridle to give it a better 
chance of escaping notice, he had left it grazing peace- 
fully in a field and stumbled on riverward, intending to 
cross it as best he could; and so make for his own house 
in Duryagunj for a fresh horse and a more suitable kit. 
And as he plodded along doggedly he cursed the sheer 
ill-luck which had made him late. 

For he was late. 

The five troopers were already galloping through the 
grape-garden toward the women’s apartments and the 
King’s sleeping rooms. 

Their shouts of “The King! The King! Help for 


DAWN, 


211 


the martyrs! Help for the Holy War! ” dumfoundered 
the court muezzin, who was going late to his prayers 
in the Pearl Mosque; the reckless hoofs sent a squatting 
bronze image of a gardener, threading jasmine chaplets 
for his gods peacefully in the pathway, flying into a 
rose bush. 

“The King! The King! Help! Help!” 

The women woke with the cry, confused, alarmed, sur- 
prised; save one or two who, creeping to the Queen's 
room, found her awake, excited, calling to her maids. 

“ Too soon ! ” she echoed contemptuously. “ Can 
a good thing come too soon? Quick, woman — I must 
see the King at once — nay, I will go as I am if it comes 
to that.” 

“ The physician Ahsan-Oolah hath arrived as usual 
for the dawn pulse-feeling,” protested the shocked 
tirewoman. 

“ All the more need for hurry,” retorted Zeenut Maihl. 
''Quick! Slippers and a veil! Thine will do, Fatma; 

sure what makes thee decent ” She gav^ a spiteful 

laugh as she snatched it from the woman’s head and 
passed to the door; but there she paused a second. “ See 
if Hafzan be below. I bid her come early, so she should 
be. Tell her to write word to Hussan Askuri to dream as 
he never dreamed before! And see,” her voice grew 
shriller, keener, “ the rest of you have leave. Go ! cozen 
every man you know, every man you meet. I care not 
how. Make their blood flow! I care not wherefore, so 
that it leaps and bounds, and would spill other blood 
that checked it.” She clenched her hands as she passed 
on muttering to herself. “ Ah! if he were a man — if his 
blood were not chilled with age — if I had someone ” 

She broke off into smiles; for in the anteroom she 
entered was, man or no man, the representative of the 
Great Moghul. 

“ Ah, Zeenut! ” he cried in tones of relief. “ I would 
have sought thee.” The trembling, shrunken figure in 
its wadded silk dressing gown paused and gave a back- 
ward glance at Ahsan-Oolah, whose shrewd face was full 
of alarm. 

“Believe nothing, my liege!” he protested eagerly. 


212 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


“ These rioters are boasters. Are there not two thousand 
British soldiers in Meerut? Their tale is not possible. 
They are cowards fled from defeat; liars, hoping to be 
saved at your expense. The thing is impossible.” 

The Queen turned on him passionately. “ Are not all 
things possible with God, and is not His Majesty the 
defender of the faith! ” 

“ But not defender of five runaway rioters,” sneered 
the physician. “My liege! Remember your pension.” 

Zeenut Maihl glared at his cunning; it was an argu- 
ment needing all her art to combat. 

“Five!” she echoed, passing to the lattice quickly. 
“ Then miracles are about — the five have grown to fifty. 
Look, my lord, look! Hark! How they call on the de- 
fender of the faith.” 

With reckless hand she set the lattice wide, so becom- 
ing visible for an instant, and a shout of “The Queen! 
The Queen!” mingled with that other of “The Faith! 
The Faith! Lead us. Oh! Ghazee-q-din-Bahadur-shah, 
to die for the faith.” 

Pale as he was with age, the cry stirred the blood in 
the King’s veins and sent it to his face. 

“ Stand back,” he cried in sudden dignity, waving 
both counselors aside with trembling, outstretched hands. 
“ I will speak mine own words.” 

But the sight of him, rousing a fresh burst of enthusi- 
asm, left him no possibility of speech for a time. The 
Lord had been on their side, they cried. They had 
killed every hell-doomed infidel in Meerut! They would 
do so in Delhi if he would help! They were but an ad- 
vance guard of an army coming from every cantonment 
in India to swear allegiance to the Padishah. Long live 
the King! and the Queen! 

In the dim room behind, Zeenut Maihl and the phy- 
sician listened to the wild, almost incredible, tale which 
drifted in with the scented air from the garden, and 
watched each other silently. Each found in it fresh 
cause for obstinacy. If this were true, what need to be 
foolhardy? time would show, the thing come of itself 
without risk. If this were true, decisive action should 
be taken at once; and would be taken. 


DAWN, 


213 


But the King*, assailed, molested by that rude inter- 
rupting loyalty, above all by that cry of the Queen, felt 
the Turk stir in him also. Who were these intruders in 
the sacred precincts, infringing the seclusion of the Great 
Moghul’s women? Trembling with impotent passion, 
inherited from passions that had not been impotent, he 
turned to Ahsan-Oolah, ignoring the Queen, who, he 
felt, was mostly to blame for this outrage on her modesty. 
Why had she come there? Why had she dared to be 
seen? 

“ Your Majesty should send for the Captain of the 
Palace Guards and bid him disperse the rioters, and force 
them into respect for your royal person,” suggested the 
physician, carefully avoiding all but the immediate 
present, ” and your Majesty should pass to the Hall of 
Audience. The King can scarce receive the Captain- 
sahib here in presence of the Consort.” He did not 
add — “ in her present costume ” — but his tone implied 
it, and the King, with an angry mortified glance toward 
his favorite, took the physician’s arm. If looks could 
kill, Ahsan-Oolah would not, he knew, have supported 
those tottering steps far; but it was no time to stick at 
trifles. 

When they had passed from the anteroom Zeenut 
Maihl still stood as if half stupefied by the insult. Then 
she dashed to the open lattice again, scornful and defiant ; 
dignified into positive beauty for the moment by her 
recklessness. 

“For the Faith!” she cried in her shrill woman’s 
voice, “ if ye are men, as I would be, to be loved of 
woman, as I am, strike for the Faith I ” 

A sort of shiver ran through the clustering crowd of 
men below; the shiver of anticipation, of the marvelous, 
the unexpected. The Queen had spoken to them as 
men; of herself as woman. Inconceivable! — improper 
of course — yet exciting. Their blood thrilled, the in- 
stinct of the man to fight for the woman rose at once. 

“Quick, brothers! Rouse the guard! Close the 
gates ! Close the gates ! ” 

It was a cry to heal all strife within those rose-red 
walls, for the dearest wish of every faction was to close 


214 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


them against civilization; against those prying Western 
eyes and sniffing Western noses, detecting drains and 
sinks of iniquity. So the clamor grew, and faces which 
had frowned at each other yesterday sought support in 
each other’s ferocity to-day, and wild tales began to pass 
from mouth to mouth. Men, crowding recklessly over 
the flower-beds, trampling down the roses, talked of 
visions, of signs and warnings, while the troopers, dis- 
mounting for a pull at a pipe, became the center of eager 
circles listening not to dreams, but deeds. 

“ Dost feel the rope about thy neck. Sir Martyr? ” 
said a bitter jeering voice behind one of the speakers. 
And something gripped him round the throat from be- 
hind, then as suddenly loosed its hold, as a shrouded 
woman’s figure hobbled on through the crowd. The 
trooper started up with an oath, his own hand seeking 
his throat involuntarily. 

“Heed her not!” said a bystander hastily, “ ’tis the 
Queen’s scribe, Hafzan. She hath a craze against men. 
One made her what she is. Go on! Havildar-jee. So 
thou didst cut the men down, and fling the babe ” 

But the doer of the deed stood silent. He did in truth 
seem to feel the rope about his neck. And he seemed to 
feel it till he died; when it was there. 

But Hafzan had passed on, and there were no more 
with words of warning. So the clamor grew and grew, 
till the garden swarmed with men ready for any deed. 

Ahsan-Oolah saw this, and laid a detaining hand on 
the Captain of the Guard’s arm, who, summoned in hot 
haste from his quarters over the Lahore gate, came in by 
the private way, and proposed to go down and harangue 
the crowd. 

“ It is not safe, Huzoor,” he cried. “ My liege, detain 
him. These men by their own confession are mur- 
derers ” 

The King looked from one tO' the other doubtfully. 
Someone must get rid of the rioters; yet the physician 
said truth. 

“ And if aught befall,” added the latter craftily, “ your 
Majesty will be held responsible.” 

The old man’s hand fell instantly on the Englishman’s 


DA WIST, 


2IS 

arm. Nay, nay, sahib! go not. Go not, my friend! 
Speak to them from the balcony. They will not dare lo 
violate it.’’ 

So, backed by the sanctity of the Audience Hall of a 
dead dynasty, the Englishman stood and ordered the 
crowd to desist from profaning privacy in the name of 
the old man behind him; whose power he, in common 
with all his race, hoped and believed to be dead. 

It was sufficient, however, to leave some respect for 
the royal person, and make the crowd disperse. To 
little purpose so far as peace and quiet went, since the 
only effect was to send a leaven of revolt to every cor- 
ner of the Palace. And the Palace was so full of malcon- 
tents, docked of power, privilege, pensions; of all that 
makes life in a Palace worth living. 

So the cry “ Close the gates ” grew wider. The dazed 
old King clung to the Englishman’s arm imploring him 
to stay; but now a messenger came running to say that 
the Commissioner-sahib had called and left word that the 
Captain was to follow without delay to the Calcutta gate 
of the city. The courtiers, who had begun to assemble, 
looked at each other curiously; the disturbance, then, 
had spread beyond the Palace. Could, then, this amaz- 
ing tale be true? The very thought sent them cringing 
round the old man, who might ere long be King indeed. 

Yet as the Captain dashed at a gallop past the sentries 
standing calmly at the Lahore gate, there was no sign 
of trouble beyond, and he gave a quick glance of relief 
back at those cool quarters of his over the arched tunnel 
where the chaplain, his daughter, and her friend were 
staying as his guests. He felt less fear of leaving them 
when he saw that the city was waking to life as always, 
buckling down quietly to the burden and heat of a new 
day. It was now past seven o’clock, and the sunlight, 
still cool, was bright enough to cleave all things into 
dark or light, shade or shine. Up on the Ridge, the 
brigade, after listening to the sentence on the Barrack- 
pore mutineers, was dispersing quietly; many of the men 
with that fiat of patience till the 31st in their minds, for 
the carriage-load of native officers returning from the 
Meerut court-martial had come into cantonments late 


2i6 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


the night before. On the roofs of the houses in the 
learned quarter women were giving the boys their break- 
fasts ere sending them off to school. The milkwomen 
were trooping in cityward from the country, the fruit- 
sellers and hawkers trooping out Ridge-way as usual. 
The postman going his rounds had left letters, written in 
Meerut the day before, at two houses. And Kate Erl- 
ton returning from early church had found hers and was 
reading it with a scared face. Alice Gissing, however, 
having had that laconic telegram, had taken hers coolly. 
The decision had had to be made, since nothing had hap- 
pened; and Herbert had the right to make it. For her 
part, she could make him happy; she had the knack of 
making most men happy, and she herself was always 
content when the people about her were jolly. So she 
was packing boxes in the back veranda of the little house 
on the city wall. 

Thus she did not see the man who, between six and 
seven o’clock, ran breathlessly past her house, as a short- 
cut to the Court House from the bridge, taking a mes- 
sage from the toll-keeper to the nearest Huzoor, the 
Collector, who was holding early office, that a party of 
armed troopers had come down the Meerut road, that 
more could be seen coming, and would the Huzoor 
kindly issue orders. That first and final suggestion of 
the average native subordinate in any difficulty. 

Armed men? That might mean much or nothing. 
Yet scarcely anything really serious, or warning would 
have been sent. The Commissioner, anyhow, must be 
told. So the Collector flung himself on his horse, which, 
in Indian fashion, was waiting under a tree outside the 
Court House, and galloped toward Ludlow Castle. No 
need for that warning, however, for just by the Cashmere 
gate he met the man he sought driving furiously down 
with a mounted escort to close the city gates. He had 
already heard the news.* 

* (How ? His house lay a mile at least further off, and the Collector’s 
office was on the only route a messenger could take. No record explains 
this. But the best ones mention casually that a telegram of warning 
came to Delhi in the early morning of the nth. Whence? the wires 
to Meerut were cut, Lahore, Umballa, Agra, did not know the news 


DA WN. 


217 


Gathering graver apprehensions from this hasty meet- 
ing, the Collector was off again to warn the Resident, 
then still further to beg help from cantonments. No 
delay here, no hesitation. Simply a man on a horse 
doing his best for the future, leaving the present for 
those on the spot. 

Nor was there delay anywhere. The Commissioner, 
calling by the way for the Captain of the Guard, the 
nearest man with men under him, was at the gate, giving 
on the bridge of boats, by half-past seven. The Resi- 
dent, calling on his way at the magazine for two guns to 
sweep the bridge, joined him there soon after. Too late. 
The enemy had crossed, and were in possession of the 
only ground commanding the bridge. Nothing re- 
mained but to close the gate and keep the city quiet till 
the columns of pursuit from Meerut should arrive; for 
that there was one upon the road no one doubted. The 
very rebels clamoring at the gate were listening for the 
sound of those following footsteps. The very fanatics, 
longing for another blow or two at an infidel to gain 
Paradise withal ere martyrdom was theirs, listened too; 
for during that moonlit night the certainty of failure had 
been as myrrh and hyssop deadening them to the sacri- 
fice of life. 

So the little knot of Englishmen, looking hopefully 
down the road, looked anxiously at each other, and 
closed the river gate; kept it closed, too, even when the 
20th claimed admittance from their friends the guard 
within. For the 38th regiment, whose turn it was for 
city work, was also rotten to the core. 

But they could not close that way through Selimgarh, 
though it, in truth, brought no trouble to the town. The 

themselves. Can the story — improbable in any other history, but in this 
record of fatal mistakes gaining a pathetic probability — which the old 
folk in Delhi tell be true ? The story of a telegram sent unofficially from 
Meerut the night before, received while the Commissioner was at dinner, 
put unopened into his pocket, and forgotten. 

Not susceptible of proof or disproof, it certainly explains three things : 

1. Whence the warning telegram came. 

2. Why the Commissioner received information before a man a good 
mile nearer the source. 

3. Why the Collector at onc( sought for military aid.) 


2i8 on the face of the waters, 

men who chose it being intriguers, fanatics, the better 
class of patriots more anxious to intrench themselves for 
the struggle within walls, than to swarm into a town they 
could not hope to hold. But there were others of differ- 
ent mettle, longing for loot and license. The 3d Cavalry 
had many friends in Delhi, especially in the Thunbi 
Bazaar; so they made for it by braving the shallow 
streams and shifting sandbanks below the eastern wall, 
and so gaining the Raj -ghat gate. Here, after compact 
with vile friends in that vile quarter, they found admit- 
tance and help. For what? 

Between the bazaar and the Palace lay Duryagunj, 
full of helpless Christian women and children; and so, 
“ Deenl Been! Futteh Mohammed ” the convenient Cry 
of Faith, was ready as, followed by the rabble and refuse 
once more, the troopers raced through the peaceful gar- 
dens, pausing only to kill the infidels thfey met. But 
like a furious wind gathering up all vile things in the 
street and carrying them along for a space, then drop- 
ping them again, the band left a legacy of license and 
sheer murder behind it, while it sped on to loot. 

But now the cry of “ Close the gates ” rose once more, 
this time from the shopkeepers, the respectable quarters, 
the secluded alleys, and courtyards. And many a door 
was closed on the confusion and never opened again, 
except to pass in bare bread, for four long months. 

“ Close the gates ! Close the gates ! Close the gates! ’’ 
The cry rose from the Palace, the city, the little knot of 
Englishmen looking down the Meerut road. Yet no one 
could compass that closing. Recruits swarmed in 
through Selimgarh to the Palace. Robbers swarmed 
in through the Raj -ghat gate to harry the bazaars. Only 
through the Cashmere gate, held by English officers and 
a guard of the 38th, no help came. The Collector arriv- 
ing therein, hot from his gallop to cantonments, found 
more wonder than alarm; for death was dealt in Delhi 
by noiseless cold steel; and the main guard, having to 
be kept in order to secure retreat and safety to the Euro- 
pean houses around it, no one had been able to leave it. 
And all around was still peaceful utterly; even the roar 
of growing tumult in the city had not reached it. Sonnv 


DAWN. 


219 


Seymour was playing with his parrot in the veranda, 
Alice Gissing packing boxes methodically. The Col- 
lector galloping past — as, scorning the suggestion that it 
was needless risk to go further, he replied briefly, that 
he was the magistrate of the town, and struck spurs to 
his horse — made some folk look up — that was all. 

But he could scarcely make his way through the grow- 
ing crowd, which, led by troopers, was beginning to close 
in behind the knot of waiting Englishmen. And once 
more they looked down the Meerut road as they heard 
that some time must elapse ere they could hope for re- 
inforcement. The guns could not be got ready at a 
moment’s notice; nor could the Cashmere gate guard 
leave the post. But the 54th regiment should be down 

in about In about what? No one asked; but 

those waiting faces listened as for a verdict of life and 
death. 

In about an hour. 

An hour! And not a cloud of dust upon the Meerut 
road. 

“ They can’t be long, though, now,” said the eldest 
there hopefully. “ And Ripley will bring his men down 
at the double. If we go into the guard-house we can 
hold our own till then, surely.” 

I can hold mine,” replied a young fellow with a 
rough-hewn homely face. He gave a curt nod as he 
spoke to a companion, and together they turned back, 
skirting the wall, followed by an older, burlier man. 
They belonged to the magazine, and they were off to see 
the best way of holding their own. And they found 
it — found it for all time. 

But fate had denied to those other brave men the 
nameless something which makes men succeed together, 
or die together. Within half an hour they were scat- 
tered helplessly. The Resident, after seeking support 
from the city police for one whose name had been a 
terror to Delhi for fifty years, and finding insult instead, 
was flying for dear life through the Ajmere gate to the 
open country. The Commissioner, who after seizing a 
musket from a wavering guard beside him and — with 
the first shot fired in Delhi — shooting the foremost 


220 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


trooper dead, seems to have lost hope, with mutiny 
around and treason beside him, jumped into his buggy 
alone and drove off to those cool quarters above the 
Palace gate, as his nearest refuge. Their owner, the 
Captain sought like refuge by flinging himself into 
the cover of the dry moat, and creeping — despite injuries 
from the fall — along it till some of his men, faithful so 
far, seeing him unable for more, carried him to his own 
room. 

The Collector! Strangely enough there is no record 
of what the Magistrate of the city did, thus left alone. 
He had been wounded by the crowd at first, was no 
doubt weary after his wild gallopings. Still he, holding 
«}iis own so far, managed to gain the same refuge, some- 
how. What else could he do alone? One thing we 
know he could not do. That is, mount the broad, curv- 
ing flight of shallow stone stairs leading to the cool 
upper rooms. So the chaplain helped him; the chaplain 
who had “ from an early hour been watching the ad- 
vance of the Meerut mutineers through a telescope and 
feeling there was mischief in the wind.” 

Mischief indeed! and danger; most of all in those 
rose-red walls within which refuge had been sought. 
For the King was back in the women’s apartments listen- 
ing to the Queen’s cozenings and Hussan Askuri’s 
visions, when that urgent appeal to send dhoolies to con- 
vey the English ladies at the gate to the security of the 
harem reached him; reached him in Ahsan-Oolah’s 
warning voice of wisdom. And he listened to both the 
wheedling ambition and the crafty policy with a half- 
hearing for something beyond it of pity, honor, good 
>faith; while Hafzan, pen in hand, sat with her large pro- 
foundly sad eyes fixed on the old man’s face, waiting — 
waiting. 

“ If they come here — outcaste ! infidel ! I go,” said 
Zeenut Maihl. 

“ Thou shalt go with a bowstring about thy neck, 
woman, if I choose,” said the old King fiercely. 

Write! girl — the Queen’s dhoolies to the Lahore gate 
at once.” 

So, through the swarms of pensioners quarreling 


DA WN. 


221 


already over new titles and perquisites, through the 
groups' of excited fanatics preparing for martyrdom 
about the Mosque, past Abool-Bukr, three parts drunk, 
boasting to ruffling blades of the European mistresses 
he meant to keep, the Queen’s dhoolies went swaying 
out of the precincts; all yielding place to them. And 
beyond, in the denser more dangerous crowd without, 
they passed easily; for those tinsel-decked, tawdry 
canopies, screened with sodden musk and dirt-scented 
curtains, were sacred. 

Sacred even to the refuse and rabble of the city, the 
dissolute eunuchs, the mob of retainers, palace guards, 
and blood-drunk soldierly surging through that long 
arched-tunnel by the Lahore gate, and hustling to get 
round that wide arch, and so, a few steps further, see the 
Commissioner standing at bay upon that wide curving 
red-stone stair that led upward. Standing and thinking 
of the women above; of one woman mostly. Standing, 
facing the wild sea of faces, waiting to see if that last 
appeal for help had been heard. 

“ Room! Room! for the Queen’s dhoolies! ” 

The cry echoed above the roar of the crowd. 

At last! He turned, to pass on the welcome news, 
perchance; but it was enough — that one waver of that 
stern face! There was a rush, a cry, a clang of steel on 
stone, a fall! And then up those wide curving stairs, 
like fiends incarnate, jostled a mad crew, elbowing each 
other, cursing each other, in their eagerness for that 
blow which would win Paradise. 

Four crowns of glory in the first room, where the 
chaplain, the Captain, and the two English girls fell side 
by side. One in the next, where the Collector and 
Magistrate, weary and wounded, still lay alone. 

“Way! Way! for the Queen’s dhoolies!” 

But they had come too late, as all things seemed to 
come too late on that fatal nth of May. 

Too late! Too late! The words dinned themselves 
into a horseman’s brain, as he dashed out of the com- 
pound of a small house in Duryagunj and headed 
straight through the bazaar for the little house on the 
city wall by the Cashmere gate. And as he rode he 
shouted; '‘Deen! Deen!” 


222 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


It was a convenient cry, and suited the trooper’s dress 
he wore. He had had to shoot a man to get it, but he 
hoped to shoot many more when he had seen Alice 
Gissing in safety, and the Meerut column had come in. 
It could not be long now. 


CHAPTER III. 

DAYLIGHT. 

Three miles away Kate Erlton sat in her home-like, 
peaceful drawing room, feeling dazzled. The sunshine, 
streaming through the open doors, seemed to stream 
into the very recesses of her mind as she sat, still look- 
ing at the letter which she had found half an. hour before 
waiting for her beside a bunch of late roses which the 
gardener had laid on the table ready for her to arrange in 
the vases. The flowers were fading fast; the dog-cart 
waiting outside to take her on to see a sick friend ere the 
sun grew hot, shifted to find another shadow; but she 
did not move. 

She was trying to understand what it all meant; 
really — deprived of her conventional thoughts about such 
things. And one sentence in the letter had a strange 
fascination for her. “ I am not such a fool as to think 
you will mind. I know you will get on much better 
without me.” 

Of course. She had, in a way, accepted the truth of 
this years ago. The fact must have been patent to him 
also all that time ; and she had known that he accepted it. 

But now, set down in black and white, it forced her 
into seeing — as she had never seen before — the deadly 
injury she had done to the man by not minding. And 
then the question came keenly — “ Why had she not 
minded?” Because she had not been content with her 
bargain. She had wanted something else. What? The 
emotion, the refinement, the fin-ileur of sentiment. 
Briefly, what made her happy; what gave her satisfac- 
tion. It was only, then, a question between different 
forms of enjoyment; the one as purely selfish as the 


VA Y LIGHT. 


223 


other. More so, in a way, for it claimed more and 
carried the grievance of denial into every detail of life. 
She moved restlessly in her chair, confused by this sud- 
den daylight in her mind ; laid down the letter, then took 
it up again and read another sentence. 

“ I believe you used to think that I’d get the regiment 
some day; but I shouldn’t — after all, the finish is the 
win or the lose of a race.” 

The letter went down on the table again, but this time 
her head went down with it to rest upon it above her 
clasped hands. Oh! the pity of it! the pity of it! Yet 
how could she have avoided standing aloof from this 
man’s life as she had done from the moment she had dis- 
covered she did not love him? 

Suddenly she stood up, pressing those clasped hands 
tight to her forehead as if to hold in her thoughts. The 
sunlight, streaming in, shone right into her cool gray 
eyes, showing in a ray on the iris, as if it were passing 
into her very soul. 

If she had been this man’s sister, instead of his wife, 
could she not have lived with him contentedly enough, 
palliating what could be palliated, gaining what influ- 
ence she could with him, giving him affection and sym- 
pathy? Why, briefly, had she failed to make him what 
Alice Gissing had made him — a better man? And yet 
Alice Gissing did not love him; she had no romantic 
sentiment about him. Did she really lay less stress — she, 
the woman at whom other women held up pious hands 
of horror — on that elemental difference between the tie of 
husband and wife, and brother and sister than she, Kate 
Erlton, did, who had affected to rise superior to it alto- 
gether? It seemed so. She had asked for a purely 
selfish gratification of the mind. And Alice Gissing? 
A strange jealousy came to her with the thought, not 
for herself, but for her husband; for the man who was 
content to give up everything for a woman whom he 
“ loved very dearly.” That was true. , Kate had 
watched him for those three months, and she had 
watched Mrs. Gissing too, and knew for a certainty the 
latter gave him nothing any woman might not have 
given him if she had been content to put her own 


224 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

claims for happiness, her own gratification, her own 
mental passion aside. So a quick resolve came to her. 
He must not give up the finish, the win or the lose of the 
race, for so little. There was time yet for the chance. 
She had pleaded for one with a man a year ago; she 
would plead for it with a woman to-day. 

She passed into the veranda hastily, pausing involun- 
tarily ere getting into the dog-cart before the still, sunlit 
beauty of that panorama of the eastern plains, stretching 
away behind the gardens which fringed the shining 
curves of the river. There was scarcely a shadow any- 
where, not a sign to tell that three miles down that river 
the man with whom she had pleaded a year ago was 
straining every nerve to give her and himself a chance, 
and that within the rose-lit, lilac-shaded city the chance 
of some had come and gone. 

Nor, as she drove along the road intent on that com- 
ing interview in the little hothouse upon the wall, was 
there any sign to warn her of danger. The Cash- 
mere gate stood open, and the guard saluted as usual. 
Perhaps, had the English officers seen her, they might 
have adyised her return, even though there was as yet 
no anticipation of danger; had there been one, the first 
thought would have been to clear the neighboring 
bungalows. But they were in the main-guard, and she 
set down the stare of the natives to the fact that nine 
o’clock was unusually late for an English lady to be 
braving the May sun. The road beyond was also un- 
usually deserted, but she was too busy searching for the 
winged words, barbed well, yet not too swift or sharp 
to wound beyond possibility of compromise, which she 
meant to use ere long, to pay any attention to her sur- 
roundings. She did not even catch the glimpse of 
Sonny, still playing with the cockatoo, as she sped past 
the Seymours’ house, and she scarcely noticed the 
groom’s ''Hut! teri, hut!” (Out of the way! you there!) 
to a figure in a green turban, over which she nearly ran, 
as it came sneaking round a corner as if looking for 
something or someone; a figure which paused to look 
after her half doubtfully. 

Yet these same words, which came so readily to her 


DA YLIGHT, 


i525 

imaginings, failed her, as set words will, before the com- 
monplace matter-of-fact reality. If she could have 
jumped from the dog-cart and dashed into them without 
preamble, she would have been eloquent enough; but 
the necessary inquiry if Mrs. Gissing could see her, the 
ushering in as for an ordinary visit, the brief waiting, 
the perfunctory hand-shake with the little figure in 
familiar white-and-blue were so far from the high-strung 
appeal in her thoughts that they left her silent, almost 
shy. 

“ Find a comfy chair, do,” came the high, hard voice. 

Isn’t it dreadfully hot? My old Mai will have it some- 
thing is going to happen. She has been dikking me 
about it all the morning. An earthquake, I suppose; it 
feels like it, rather. Don’t you think so? ” 

Kate felt as if one had come already, as, quite auto- 
matically, she satisfied Alice Gissing’s choice of “ a 
really — really comfy chair.” 

How dizzily unreal it seemed! And yet not more so, 
in fact, than the life they had been leading for months 
past ; knowing the truth about each other absolutely ; 
pretending to know nothing. Well! the sooner that 
sort of thing came to an end, the better! 

“ I have had a letter from my husband,” she began, 
but had to pause to steady her voice. 

“ So I supposed when I saw you,” replied Alice Giss- 
ing, without a quiver in hers. But she rose, crossed over 
to Kate, and stood before her, like a naughty child, her 
hands behind her back. She looked strangely young, 
strangely innocent in the dim light of the sunshaded 
room. So young, so small, so slight among the endless 
frills and laces of a loose morning wrapper. And she 
spoke like a child also, querulously, petulantly. 

“ I like you the better for coming, too, though I don’t 
see what possible good it can do. He said in his letter 
to me he would tell you all about it, and if he has, I 
don’t see what else there is to say, do you? ” 

Kate rose also, as if to come nearer to her adversary, 
and so the two women stood looking boldly enough into 
each other’s eyes. But the keenness, the passion, the 
pity of the scene had somehow gone out of it for Kate 


226 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


Erlton. Her tongue seemed tied by the tameness; she 
felt that they might have been discussing a trivial detail 
in some trivial future. Yet she fought against the 
feeling. 

“ I think there is a great deal to say; that is why I 
have come to say it,” she replied, after a pause. “ But 
I can say it quickly. You don’t love my husband, Alice 
Gissing, let him go. Don’t ruin his life.” 

Bald and crude as this was in comparison with her 
imagined appeal, it gave the gist of it, and Kate watched 
her hearer’s face anxiously to see the effect. Was that 
by chance a faint smile? or was it only the barred light 
from the jalousies hitting the wide blue eyes? 

“ Love ! ” echoed Alice Gissing. I don’t know any- 
thing about love. I never pretended to. But I can 
make him happy; you never did.” 

There was not a trace of malice in the high voice. It 
simply stated a fact; but a fact so true that Kate’s lip 
quivered. 

“ I know that as well as you do. But I think I could — 
now. I want you to give me the chance.” 

She had not meant to put it so humbly; but, being 
once more the gist of what she had intended to say, it 
must pass. There was no doubt about the smile now. 
It was almost a laugh, that hateful, inconsequent laugh; 
but, as if to soften its effect, a little jeweled hand hovered 
out as if it sought a resting-place on Kate’s arm. 

“ You can’t, my dear. It is so funny that you can’t 
see that, when I, who know nothing about — about all 
that — can see it quite plainly. You are the sort of 
woman, Mrs. Erlton, who falls in love — who must fall 
in love — who — don’t be angry! — likes being in love, and 
is unhappy if she isn’t. Now I don’t care a rap for 
people to be thinking, and thinking, and thinking of me, 
nothing but me! I like them to be pleasant and pleased. 

And I make them so, somehow ” She shrugged her 

shoulders whimsically as if to dismiss the puzzle, and 
went on gravely, “ And you can’t make people happy if 
you aren’t happy yourself, you know, so there is no use 
in thinking you could.” 

It was bitter truth, but Kate was too honest to deny it. 


DA Y LIGHT, 


227 


There had always been the sense of grievance in the 
past, and the sense of self-sacrifice, at least, would remain 
in the future. 

“ But there are other considerations,” she began 
slowly. “ A man does not set such store by — by love 

and marriage as a woman. It is only a bit ” 

“ A very small bit,” put in Mrs. Gissing, with a whim- 
sical face. 

“ A very small bit of his life,” continued Kate stolidly, 
and if my husband gives up his profession— — ” 

Mrs. Gissing interrupted her again; this time petu- 
lantly. ‘T told him it was a pity — I offered to go away 
anywhere. I did, indeed! And I couldn’t do more, 
could I? But when a man gets a notion of honor into 
his head ” 

“Honor!” interrupted Kate in her turn, “the less 
said about honor the better, surely, between you and 
me!” 

The wide blue eyes looked at her doubtfully. 

“ I never can understand women like you,” said their 
owner. “ You pretend not to care, and then you make 
so much fuss over so little.” 

“ So little! ” retorted Kate, her temper rising. “ Is it 
little that my boy should have to know this about his 
father — about me? You have no children, Mrs. Giss- 
ing! If you had you would understand the shame 
better. Oh! I know about the baby and the flowers — 
who doesn’t? But that is nothing. It was so long ago, 

it died so young, you have forgotten ” 

She broke off before the expression on the face before 
her — that face with the shadowless eyes, but with deep 
shadows beneath the eyes and a nameless look of physi- 
cal strain and stress upon it — and a sudden pallor came 
to her own cheek. 

“ So he hasn’t told you,” came the high voice half- 
fretfully, half-pitifully. “That was very mean of him; 
but I thought, somehow, he couldn’t by your coming 

here. Well! I suppose I must. Mrs. Erlton ” 

Kate stepped back from her defiantly, angrily. “ He 
has told me all I need, all I care to know about this 
miserable business. Yes! he has! You can see the 


228 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


letter if you like — there it is! I am not ashamed of it. 
It is a good letter, better than I thought he could write — 
better than you deserve. For he says he will marry you 
if I will let him! And he says he is sorry it can’t be 
helped. But I deny that. It can, it must, it shall be 
helped! And then he says it’s a pity for the boy’s sake; 
but that it does not matter so much as if it was a 
girl ” 

It was the queerest sound which broke in on those 
passionate reproaches. The queerest sound. Neither a 
laugh nor a sob, nor a cry; but something compounded 
of all three, infinitely soft, infinitely tender. 

“ And the other may be” said Alice Gissing in a voice 
of smiles and tears, as she pointed to the end of the sen- 
tence in the letter Kate had thrust upon her. “ Poor 
dear! What a way to put it! How like a man to 
think you could understand; and I wonder what the old 
Mai would say to its being ” 

What did she say? What were the frantic words 
which broke from the frantic figure, its sparse gray hair 
showing, its shriveled bosom heaving unveiled, which 
burst into the room and flung its arms round that little 
be-frilled white one as if to protect and shield it? 

Kate Erlton gave a half-choked, half-sobbing cry. 
Even this seemed a relief from the incredible horror of 
what had dawned upon her, frightening her by the wild 
insensate jealousy it roused — the jealousy of mother- 
hood. 

“ What is it? What does she say? ” she cried pas- 
sionately, “ I have a right to know! ” 

Alice Gissing looked at her with a faint wonder. ‘Ht 
is nothing about that” she said, and her face, though it 
had whitened, showed no fear. “ It’s something more 
important. There has been a row in the city — the Com- 
missioner and some other Englishmen have been killed 
and she says we are not safe. I don’t quite understand. 
Oh! don’t be a fool, Mai! ” she went on in Hindustani, “ I 
won’t excite myself. I never do. Don’t be a fool, I 
say ! ” Her foot came down almost savagely and she 
turned to Kate. “ If you will wait here for a second, 
Mrs. Erlton, I’ll go outside with the Mai and have a look 


DA YLIGHT. 


229 


round, and bring my husband’s pistol from the other 
room. You had better stay, really. I shall be back in 
a moment. And I dare say it’s all the old Mai’s non- 
sense — she is such a fool about me — nowadays.” Her 
white face, smiling over its own certainty of coming 
trouble, was gone, and the door closed, almost before 
Kate could say a word. Not that she had any to say. 
She was too dazed to think of danger to the little 
figure, which passed out into the shady back veranda 
perched on the city wall, looking out into the peaceful 
country beyond. She was too absorbed in what she had 
just realized to think of anything else. So this was what 
he had meant! — and this woman with her facile nature, 
ready to please and be pleased with anyone — this woman 
content to take the lowest place — had the highest of all 
claims upon him. This woman who had no right to 

motherhood, who did not know 

God in Heaven! What was that through the stillness 
and the peace? A child’s pitiful scream. 

She was at the closed windows in an instant, peering 
through the slits of the jalousies; but there was nothing 
to be seen save a blare and blaze of sunlight on sun- 
scorched grass and sun-withered beds of flowers. Noth- 
ing! — stay! — Christ help us! What was that? A vision 
of white, and gold, and blue. White garments and 
white wings, golden curls and flaming golden crest, fierce 
gray-blue beak and claws among the fluttering blue 
ribbons. Sonny! His little feet flying and failing fast 
among the flower-beds. Sonny! still holding his 
favorite’s chain in the unconscious grip of terror, while 
half-dragged, half-flying, the wide white wings fluttered 
over the child’s head. 

‘ ^Deen ! Deen ! Futteh Mohammed ! ’ ’ 

That was from the bird, terrified, yet still gentle. 
^^Deen! Deen! F utt eh Mohammed! ” 

That was from the old man who followed fast on the 
child with long lance in rest like a pig-sticker’s. An old 
man in a faded green turban with a spiritual, relentless 
face. 

Kate’s fingers were at the bolts of the high French win- 
dow — her only chance of speedy exit from that closed 


230 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


room. Ah! would they never yield? — and the lance 
was gaining on those poor little flying feet. Every atom 
of motherhood in her — fierce, instinctive, animal, fought 
with those unyielding bolts. . . . 

What was that? Another vision of white, and gold, 
and blue, dashing into the sunlight with something in a 
little clenched right hand. Childish itself in frills, and 
laces, and ribbons, but with a face as relentless as the 
old man’s, as spiritual. And a clear confident voice rang 
above those discordant cries. 

‘'All right. Sonny! All right, dear!” 

On, swift and straight in the sunlight; and then a 
pause to level the clenched right hand over the left arm 
coolly, and fire. The lance wavered. It was two feet 
further from that soft flesh and blood when Alice Gissing 
caught the child up, turned and ran; ran for dear life 
to shelter. 

‘‘Deen! Been! Fiitteh Mohammed! ” 

The cry came after the woman and child, and over 
them, released by Sonny’s wild clutch at sheltering arms, 
the bird fluttered, echoing the cry. 

But one bolt was down at last, the next yielding — Ah! 
who was that dressed like a native, riding like an Eng- 
lishman, who leaped the high garden fence and was over 
among the flower-beds where Sonny was being chased. 
Was he friend or foe? No matter! Since under her 
vehement hands the bolt had fallen, and Kate was out 
in the veranda. Too late! The flying sunlit vision of 
white, and gold, and blue had tripped and fallen. No! 
not too late. The report of a revolver rang out, and the 
CTy of Faith came only from the bird, for the fierce 
relentless face was hidden among the laces, and frills, and 
ribbons that hid the withered flowers. 

But the lance? The lance whose perilous nearness 
had made that shot Jim Douglas’ only chance of keeping 
his promise? He was on his knees on the scorched 
grass choking down the curse as he saw a broken shaft 
among the frills and ribbons, a slow stream oozing in 
gushes to dye them crimson. There was another crim- 
son spot, too, on the shoulder, showing where a bullet, 
after crashing through a man’s temples, had found its 


\ 


DA YLIGHT. 


231 


Spent resting place. . But as the Englishman kicked 
away one body, and raised the other tenderly from the 
unhurt child, so as not to stir that broken shaft, he wished 
that if death had had to come, he might have dealt it. 
To his wild rage, his insane hatred, there seemed a dese- 
cration even in that cold touch of steel from a dark hand.. 

But Alice Gissing resented nothing. She lay propped 
by his arms with those wide blue eyes still wide, yet 
sightless, heedless of Kate’s horrified whispers, or the 
poor old Mai’s frantic whimper. Until suddenly a 
piteous little wail rose from the half-stunned child to 
mingle with that ceaseless iteration of grief. “ Ohl 
meri buchchi murgyia! ” (Oh, my girlie is dead! — deadl) 

It seemed to bring her back, and a smile showed on 
the fast-paling face. 

“Don’t be a fool, Mai. It isn’t a girl; it’s a boy. 
Take care of him, do, and don’t be stupid. I’m all 
right.” 

Her voice was strong enough, and Kate looked at 
Jim Douglas hopefully. She had recognized him at once, 
despite his dress, with a faint, dead wonder as to why 
things were so strange to-day. But he could feel some- 
thing oozing wet and warm over his supporting arm, he 
knew the meaning of that whitening face; so he shook 
his head hopelessly, his eyes on those wide unseeing 
ones. She was as still, he thought, as she had been 
when he held her before. Then suddenly the eyes nar- 
rowed into sight, and looked him in the face curiously, 
clearly. 

“It’s you, is it?” came the old inconsequent laugh. 
“ Why don’t you say ‘ Bravo ! — Bravo ! — Bra ’ ” 

The crimson rush of blood from her still-smiling lips 
dyed his hands also, as he caught her up recklessly with 
a swift order to the others to follow, and ran for the 
house. But as he ran, clasping her close, close, to him,, 
his whispered bravos assailed her dead ears passionately, 
and when he laid her on her bed, he paused even in the 
mad tumult of his rage, his anxiety, his hope for others to 
kiss the palms of those brave hands ere he folded them 
decently on her breast, and was out to fetch his horse, 
and return to where Kate waited for him in the veranda. 


232 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

the child in her arms. Brave also; but the certainty that 
he had left the flood-level of sympathy and admiration 
behind him at the feet of a dead woman he had never 
known, was with him even in his hurry. 

“ I can’t see anyone else about as yet,” he said, as he 
reloaded hastily, “ and but for that fiend — that devil of 
a bird hounding him on — what did it mean? — not that 
it matters now ” — he threw his hand out in a gesture of 
impotent regret and turned to mount. 

Kate shivered. What, indeed, did it mean? A vague 
recollection was adding to her horror. Had she driven 
away once from an uncomprehensible appeal in that 
relentless face? when the bird 

“ Don’t think, please,” said Jim Douglas, pausing to 
give her a sharp glance. “ You will need all your nerve. 
The troops mutinied at Meerut last night, and killed a 
lot of people. They have come on here, and I don’t trust 
the native regiments. Go inside, and shut the door. I 
must reconnoiter a bit before we start.” 

“But my husband?” she cried, and her tone made 
him remember the strangeness of finding her in that 
house. She looked unreliable, to his keen eye; the bit- 
ter truth might make her rigid, callous, and in such 
callousness lay their only chance. 

“ All right. He asked me to look after — her.” 

He saw her waver, then pull herself together; but he 
saw also that her clasp on Sonny tightened convulsively, 
and he held out his arms. 

“ Hand the child to me for a moment,” he said briefly, 
“ and call that poor lady’s ayah from her wailing.” 

The piteous whimperings from the darkened rooms 
within ceased reluctantly. The old woman came with 
lagging step into the veranda, but Jim Douglas called to 
her in the most matter-of-fact voice. 

“Here, Mai! Take your mem’s charge. She told 
you to take care of the boy, remember.” The tear-dim 
doubtful eyes looked at him half-resentfully, but he went 
on coolly. “ Now, Sonny, go to your ayah, and be a 
good boy. Hold out your arms to old ayah, who has 
had ever so many Sonnys — haven’t you, ayah?” 

The child, glad to escape from the prancing horse, the 


DA YLIGHT. 


233 


purposely rough arms, held out its little dimpled hands. 
They seemed to draw the hesitating old feet, step by step, 
till with a sudden fierce snatch, a wild embrace, the old 
arms closed round the child with a croon of content. 

Jim Douglas breathed more freely. “ Now, Mrs. Erl- 
ton,’' he said, “ I can’t make you promise to leave Sonny 
there; but he is safer with her than he could be with you. 
She must have friends in the city. You haven’t one'' 

He was off as he spoke, leaving her to that knowledge. 
Not a friend! No! not one. Still, he need not have 
told her so, she thought proudly, as she passed in and 
closed the doors as she had been bidden to do. But he 
had succeeded. A certain fierce, dull resistance had re- 
placed her emotion. So while the ayah, still carrying 
Sonny, returned to her dead mistress, Kate remained in 
the drawing room, feeling stunned. Too stunned to 
think of anything save those last words. Not a friend! 
Not one, saving a few cringing shop-keepers, in all that 
wide city to whom she had ever spoken a word! Whose 
fault was that? Whose fault was it that she had not 
understood that appeal? 

A rattle of musketry quite close at hand roused her 
from apathy into fear for the child, and she passed 
rapidly into the next room. It was empty, save for that 
figure on the bed. The ayah with her charge had gone, 
closing the doors behind her; to her friends, no doubt. 
But she, Kate Erlton, had none. The renewed rattle 
of musketry sent her to peer through the jalousies; but 
she could see nothing. The sound seemed to come from 
the open space by the church, but gardens lay between 
her and that, blocking the view. Still it was quite close ; 
seemed closer than it had been. No doubt it would 
come closer and closer till it found her waiting there, 
without a friend. Well! Since she was not even 
capable of saving Sonny, she could at least do what she 
was told— she could at least die alone. 

No! not quite alone! She turned back to the bed and 
looked dov/n on the slender figure lying there as if asleep. 
For the ayah’s vain hopes of lingering life had left the 
face unstained, and the folded hands hid the crimson 
below them. Asleep, not dead ; for the face had no look 


234 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


of rest. It was the face of one who dreams still of the 
stress and strain of coming life. 

So this was to be her companion in death ; this woman 
who had done her the greatest wrong. What wrong? 
the question came dully. What wrong had she done 
to one who refused to admit the claims or rights of 
passion? What had she stolen, this woman who had not 
cared at all? Whose mind had been unsullied utterly. 
Only motherhood; and that was given to saint and sin- 
ner alike. 

Given rightly here, for those little hands were brave 
mother-hands. Kate put out hers softly and touched 
them. Still warm, still life-like, their companionship 
thrilled her through and through. With a faint sob, she 
sank on her knees beside the bed and laid her cheek on 
them. Let death come and find her there! Let the 
finish of the race, which was the win and the lose 

“ Mrs. Erlton ! quick, please ! ” 

Jim Douglas’ voice, calling to her from outside, roused 
her from a sort of apathy into sudden desire for life; she 
was out in the veranda in a second. 

The game’s up,” he said, scarcely able to speak 
from breathlessness; and his horse was in a white lather. 
“ I had to see to the Seymours first, and now there’s only 
one chance I can think of — desperate at that. Quick, 
your foot on mine — so — from the step — ^ — Now your 
hand. One! two! three! That’s right.” He had her 
on the saddle before him and was off through the gardens 
cityward at a gallop. “ The 54th came down from the 
cantonments all right,” he went on rapidly, “ but shot 
their officers at the church — the city scoundrels are kill- 
ing and looting all about, but the main-guard is closed 
and safe as yet. I got Mrs. Seymour there. I’ll get you 
if I can. I’m going to ride through the thick of the 
devils now with you as my prisoner. Do you see — there 
at the turn. I’ll hark back down the road — it’s the only 
chance of getting through. Slip down a bit across the 
saddle bow. Don’t be afraid. I’ll hold as long as I can. 
Now scream — scream like the devil. No! let your arms 
slack as if you’d fainted — people won’t look so much — 
that’s better—that’s capital— now— -ready ! ” 


J)A y LIGHT. 


^35 


He swerved his horse with a dig of the spur and made 
for the crowd which lay between him and safety. The 
words, over the construing of which he remembered 
being birched at school, recurred to him, as such idle 
thoughts will at such times, as he hitched his hand 
tighter on Kate’s dress and scattered the first group with 
a coarse jest or two. Thank Heaven! She would not 
understand these, his only weapons; since cold steel 
could not be used, till it had to be used to prevent her 
understanding. Thank Heaven, tool he could use both 
weapons fairly. So he dug in the spurs again and an- 
swered the crowd in its own kind, recklessly. A laugh, 
an oath, once or twice a blow with the flat of his sword. 
And Kate, with slack arms and closed eyes, lay and 
listened — listened to a sharper, angrier voice, a quick 
clash of steel, a shout of half-doubtful, half-pleased deri- 
sion from those near, a jest provoking a roar of merri- 
ment for one who meant to hold his own in love and war. 
Then a sudden bound of the horse; a faint slackening of 
that iron grip on her waist-belt. The worst of the 
stream was past; another moment and they were in a 
quiet street, another, and they had turned at right-angles 
down a secluded alley where Jim Douglas paused to pass 
his right hand, still holding his sword, under Kate’s head 
and bid her lean against him more comfortably. The 
rest was easy. He would take her out by the Mori 
gate — the alleys to it would be almost deserted — so, out- 
side the walls, to the rear of the Cashmere gate. They 
were already twisting and turning through the narrow 
lanes as he told her this. Then, with a rush and a 
whoop, he made for the gate, and the next moment they 
had the open country, the world, before them. How 
still and peaceful it lay in the sunshine! But the main- 
guard was the nearest, safest shelter, so the galloping 
hoofs sped down the tree-set road along which Kate 
generally took her evening drive. 

“ And you? ” she asked hurriedly as he set her down 
at the moat and bade her run for the wicket and knock, 
while he kept the drawbridge. 

He shook his head. “ The reliefs from Meerut must 
be in soon. If they started at dawn, in an hour. Be- 


236 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

sides, I’m off to the Palace to see what has really hap- 
pened; information’s everything.” 

She saw him turn with a wave of his sword for farewell 
as the wicket was opened cautiously, and make for the 
Mori gate once more. As he rode he told himself there 
should be no further cause for anxiety on her account. 
De Tessier’s guns were in the main-guard now, and re- 
inforcements of the loyal 74th. They could hold their 
own easily till the Meerut people smashed up the Palace. 
They could not be long now, and the city had not risen 
as yet. The bigger bazaars through which he cantered 
were almost deserted; everyone had gone home. But 
p.t the entrance to an alley a group of boys clustered, and 
one ran out to him crying, “ Khan-sahib ! What’s the 
matter? Folk say people are being killed, but we want 
to go to school.” 

“ Don’t,” said Jim Douglas as he passed on. He had 
seen the schoolmaster, stripped naked, lying on his back 
in the broad daylight as he galloped along the College 
road with Kate over his saddle-bow. 

“ Ariy brothers,” reported the spokesman. “ He said 
‘ don't’ but he can know naught. He comes from the 
outside. And we shall lose places in class if we stop, 
and others go.” 

So in the cheerful daylight the schoolboys discussed 
the problem, school or no school; the Great Revolt had 
got no further than that, as yet. 

But there was no cloud of dust upon the Meerut road, 
though straining eyes thought they saw one more than 
once. 


CHAPTER IV. 

NOON. 

But if the schoolmaster of one school lay dead in the 
sunlight there was another, well able to teach a useful 
lesson, left alive; and his school remains for all time as 
a place where men may learn what men can do. 

For about three hundred yards from the deserted 


NOON. 


237 


College, about six hundred from the main-guard of the 
Cashmere gate, stood the magazine, to which the two 
young Englishmen, followed by a burlier one, had walked 
back quietly after one of them had remarked that he could 
hold his own. For there were gates to be barred, four 
walls to be seen to, and various other preparations to be 
made before the nine men who formed the garrison could 
be certain of holding their own. And their own meant 
much to others; for with the stores and the munitions 
of war safe the city might rise, but it would be unarmed; 
but with them at the mercy of the rabble every pitiful 
pillager could become a recruit to the disloyal regiments. 

“ The mine’s about finished now, sir,” said Conductor 
Buckley, saluting gravely as he looked critically down a 
line ending in the powder magazine. “ And, askin’ your 
pardon, sir, mightn’t it be as well to settle a signal before- 
hand, sir; in case it’s wanted? And, if you have no 
objection, sir, here’s Sergeant Scully here, sir, saying he 
would look on it as a kind favor ” 

A man with a spade glanced up a trifle anxiously for 
the answer as he went on with his work. 

“ All right ! Scully shall fire it. If you finish it there 
in the middle by that little lemon tree, we shan’t forget 
the exact spot. Scully must see to having the portfire 
ready for himself. I’ll give the word to you, as your gun 
will be near mine, and you can pass it on by raising your 
cap. That will do, I think.” 

“ Nicely, sir,” said Conductor Buckley, saluting again. 

“ I wish we had one more man,” remarked the Head- 
of-the-nine, as he paused in passing a gun to look to 
something in its gear with swift professional eye. I 
don’t quite see how the nine of us are to work the ten 
guns.” 

“ Oh ! we’ll manage somehow,” said his second in 
command, “ the native establishment — perhaps ” 

George Willoughby, the Head-of-the-nine, looked at 
the sullen group of dark faces lounging distrustfully 
within those barred doors, and his own face grew stern. 
Well, if they would not work, they should at least stay 
and look on — stay till the end. Then he took out his 
watch. 


ON- THE EACE of THE WATERS. 


^ 3 ^ 

“Twelve! The Meerut troops will be in soon — if 
they started at dawn.” There was the finest inflection of 
scorn in his voice. 

“They must have started,” began his companion. 
But the tall figure with the grave young face was strain- 
ing its eyes from the bastion they were passing; it gave 
upon the bridge of boats and the lessening white streak 
of road. He was looking for a cloud of dust upon it; 
but there was none. 

“ I hope so,” he remarked as he went on. He gave a 
half-involuntary glance back, however, to the stunted 
lemon-bush. There was a black streak by it, which 
might be relied upon to give aid at dawn, or dusk, or 
noon ; high noon as it was now. 

The chime of it echoed methodically as ever from the 
main-guard, making a cheerful young voice in the offi- 
cer’s room say, “Well! the enemy is passing, anyhow. 
The reliefs can’t be long — if they started at dawn.” 

“ If they had started when they ought to have started, 
they would have been here hours ago,” said an older 
man, almost petulantly, as he rose and wandered to the 
door, to stand looking out on the baking court where his 
men — the two companies of the 54th, who had come 
down under his charge after those under Colonel Riply 
had shot down their officers by the church — were loung- 
ing about sullenly. These men might have shot him 
also but for the timely arrival of the two guns; might 
have shot at him, even now, but for those loyal 74th 
over-awing them. He turned and looked at some of 
the latter with a sort of envy. These men had come for- 
ward in a body when the regiment was called upon by 
its commandant to give honest volunteers to keep order 
in the city. What had they had, which his men had 
lacked? Nothing that he knew of. And then, inevit- 
ably, he thought of his six murdered friends and com- 
rades, officers apparently as popular as he, whose bodies 
were lying in the next room waiting for a cart to remove 
them to the Ridge. For even Major Paterson, saddened, 
depressed, looked forward to decent sepulture for his 
comrades by and by — by and by when the Meerut troops 
should arrive. And the half dozen or more of women 


NOON. 


239 


Upstairs were comforting each other with the same hope, 
and crushing down the cry that it seemed an eternity, 
already, since they had waited for that little cloud of 
dust upon the Meerut road. But for that hope they 
might have gone Meerutward themselves; for the coun- 
try was peaceful. 

Even in Duryagunj, though by noon it was a charnel- 
house, the score or so of men who kept cowards at bay in 
a miserable storehouse comforted themselves with the 
same hope; and women with the long languid eyes of 
one race, looked out of them with the temper and fire 
of the other, saying in soft staccato voices — “ It will not 
be long now. They will be here soon, for they would 
start at dawn.” 

“ They will come soon,” said a young telegraph clerk 
coolly, as he stood by his instrument hoping for a wel- 
come kling; sending, finally, that bulletin northward 
which ended with the reluctant admission, “ we must 
shut up.” Must indeed; seeing that some ruffians 
rushed in and sabered him with his hands still on the 
levers. 

” They will be here soon,” agreed the compositors of 
the Delhi Gazette as they worked at the strangest piece 
of printing the world is ever likely to see. That famous 
extra, wedged in between English election news, which 
told in bald journalese of a crisis, which became the crisis 
of their own lives before the whole edition was sent out. 

But down in the Palace Zeenut Maihl had been watch- 
ing that white streak of road also, and as the hours 
passed, her wild impatience would let her watch it no 
longer. She paced up and down the Queen’s bastion like 
a caged tigress, leaving Hafzan to take her place at the 
lattice. No sign of an avenging army yet! Then the 
troopers’ tale must be true I The hour of decisive action 
had come, it was slipping past, the King was in the hands 
of Ahsan-Oolah, and Elahi Buksh, whose face was set 
both ways, like the physician’s. And she, helpless, half in 
disgrace, caged, veiled, screened, unable to lay hands on 
anyone! Oh! why was she not a man! Why had she 
not a man to deal with! Her henna-stained nails bit 
into her palms as she clenched her hands, then in sheer 


240 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

childish passion tore off her hampering veil and, rolling 
it into a ball, flung it at the head of a drowsy eunuch in 
the outside arcade — the nearest thing to a man within 
her reach. 

“ No sign yet, Hafzan? ” she asked fiercely. 

“No sign, my Queen,” replied Hafzan, with an odd 
derisive smile. If they did not come now, thought this 
woman with her warped nature, they would come later 
on; come and put a rope round the necks of men who 
had laid violent hands on women. 

“Then I stop here no longer!” cried Zeenut Maihl 
recklessly; “ I must see somewhat of it or die. Quick, 
girls, my dhooli, I will go back to my own rooms. 
Twill at least bear me through the crowd, and the jog- 
ging will keep the blood from tingling from very still- 
ness.” 

So through the tawdry, dirty, musky curtains a 
woman’s fierce eye watched the crowd hungrily, as the 
dhooli swung through it. A fierce crowd too in its way, 
but lacking cohesion. Like the world without those 
four rose-red walls, it was waiting for a master. And 
the man who should have been master was taking cool- 
ing draughts, and composing couplets, so her spies 
brought word. No hope from him till she could lure 
him back from his vexation and put some of her own 
energy into him. Who next was there likely to do her 
bidding? Her eye, taking in all the strangeness of the 
scene, troopers stabling their horses in the colonnades, 
sepoys bivouacking under the trees, courtiers hurrying 
up and down the private steps, found none in all that 
crowd of place-hunters, boasters, enthusiasts, whom she 
could trust. The King’s eldest son Mirza Moghul was 
the fiercest tempered of them all, the only one whom she 
feared in any way; perhaps if she could get hold of 
him 

As her dhooli swayed up the steps he was standing on 
them talking to Mirza Khair Sultan. She could have 
put out her hand and touched him ; but even she did not 
dare convention enough for that. Nevertheless, the 
sight of him determined her. If the King did not come 
back to her by noon, she must lure the Mirza to her side. 


NOON. 


24T 


Thou art a fool, Pir-jee,” she said petulantly to 
Hussan Askuri who, as father confessor, had entrance to 
the womens’ rooms and was awaiting her. “ Thou hast 
no grip on the King when I am absent. Canst not even 
drive that slithering physician from his side? ” 

“ Cooling draughts, seest thou, Pir-jee,” put in Hafzan 

maliciously, “ have tangible effects. Thy dreams ” 

“ Peace, woman ! ” interrupted the Queen sternly, 
’tis no time for jesting. Where sits the King now? ” 

“ In the river balcony, Ornament-of-palaces,” replied 
Fatma glibly, “ where he is not to be disturbed these 
two hours, so the physician says, lest the cooling 
draught ” 

The Queen stamped her foot in sheer impotent rage. 
“ I must see someone. And Jewan Bukht, my son? 
why hath he not answered my summons? ” 

“ His Highness,” put in Hafzan gravely, was, as I 
came by just now, quarreling in his cups with his 
nephew, the princely Abool-Bukr, regarding the 
Inspectorship-of-Cavalry ; which office both desire — a 
weighty matter ” 

“Peace! she-devil!” almost screamed the Queen. 
“ Can I not see, can I not hear for myself, that thy sharp 
wits must forever drag the rotten heart to light — thou 

wilt go too far, some day, Hafzan, and then ” 

“ The Queen will have to find another scribe,” replied 
Hafzan meekly. 

Zeenut Maihl glared at her, then rolled round into her 
cushions as if she were in actual physical pain. And 
hark! From the Lahore gate, as if nothing had hap- 
pened, came the chime of noon. Noon! and nothing 
done. She sat up suddenly and signed to Hafzan for 
pen and ink. She would wait no longer for the King; 
she would at least try the Mirza. 

“ ‘ This, to the most illustrious the Mirza Moghul, 
Heir-Apparent by right to the throne of Timoor,’ ” she 
dictated firmly, and Hafzan looked up startled. “ Write 
on, fool,” she continued; “ hast never written lies before? 
‘ After salutation the Begum Zeenut Maihl,’ ” — the 
humbler title came from her lips in a tone which boded 
ill for the recipient of the letter if he fell into the toils, — 


242 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ ' seeing that in this hour of importance the King is sick, 
and by order of physicians not to be disturbed, would 
know if the Mirza, being by natural right the King’s 
vice-regent, desires the private seal to any orders neces- 
sary for peace and protection. Such signet being in the 
hands of the Queen ’ — nay, not that, I was forget- 
ting — ‘ the Begum.’ ” 

She gave an angry laugh as she lay back among her 
cushions and bid them send the letter forthwith. That 
should make him nibble. Not that she had the signet — 
the King kept that on his own finger — but if the Mirza 
came on pretense or rather in hopes of getting it? Why! 
then; if the proper order was given and if she could 
insure the aid of men to carry out her schemes, the signet 
should be got at somehow. The King was old and frail; 
the storm and stress might well kill him. 

So her thoughts ranged from one plot to another as 
she waited for an answer. If this lure succeeded, she 
would but use the Heir-Apparent for a time. What use 
was there in plotting for him? He could die, as other 
heirs had died; and then the only person likely to put a 
spoke in her wheel was Abool-Bukr. He was teaching 
his young uncle the first pleasures of manhood, and 
might find it convenient to influence the boy against her. 
It would be well therefore to get hold of him also. That 
was not a hard task, and she sat up again without a 
moment’s hesitation and signed once more to Hafzan. 

‘‘ Thy best flourishes,” she said with an evil sneer, “ for 
it goes to a rare scholar; to a fool for all that, who would 
have folk think nephews visit their aunts from duty! 

‘ This to Newasi loving and beloved, greeting. Conse- 
quent on the disturbances, the princely nephew Abool- 
Bukr lieth senseless here in the Palace.’ Stare not, fool ! 
senseless drunk he is by this time, I warrant. ' Those 
who have seen him think ill of him.’ ” Here she broke 
off into malicious enjoyment of her own wit. “ Ay! and 
those who have but heard of him also! ‘‘The course of 
events, however, being in the hands of Heaven, will be- 
duly reported.’ ” 

She coiled herself up again on the cushions, an insig- 


Noo^r. 


243 


nificant square homely figure draped in worn brocade 
and laden with tarnished jewelry; ill-matched strings of 
pearls, flawed emeralds, diamonds without sparkle. 
Yet not without a certain dignity, a certain symmetry of 
purpose, harmonizing with the arched and frescoed room 
in which she lay; a room beautiful in design and decora- 
tion, yet dirty, comfortless, almost squalid. 

“Nay! not my signature,” she yawned. “I am too 
old a foe of the scholars ; but a smudge o’ the thumb will 
do. If I know aught of aunts and nephews, she will be 
too much flustered by the news to look at seals. And 
have word sent to the Delhi gate that the Princess Fark- 
hoonda be admitted, but goes not forth again.” 

Her hard voice ceased; there was no sound in the 
room save that strange hum from the gardens outside, 
which at this hour of the day were generally wrapped in 
sun-drugged slumbers. 

But the world beyond, toward which the old King’s 
lusterless eyes looked as he lay on the river balcony, 
was sleepy, sun-drugged as ever. Through the tracery- 
set arches showed yellow stretches of sand and curving 
river, with tussocks of tall tiger-grass hiding the slender 
stems of the palm-trees which shot up here and there 
into the blue sky; blue with the yellow glaze upon it 
which comes from sheer sunlight. A row of saringhi 
players squatted in the room behind the balcony, thrum- 
ming softly, so \as to hide that strange hum of life which 
reached even h^re. For the King was writing a couplet 
and was in difficulties with a rhyme for cartouche (cart- 
ridge); since he was a stickler for form, holding that the, 
keynote of the lines should jingle. And this couplet was 
to epitomize the situation on the other side of the 
saringhies. Cartouche? Cartouche? Suddenly he sat 
up. “Quick! send for Hussan Askuri; or stay!” he 
hesitated for an instant. Hussan Askuri would be with 
the Queen, and no one ever admired his couplets as she 
did. How many hours was it since he had seen her? 
And what was the use of making couplets, if you were 
denied their just meed of praise? “ Stay,” he repeated, 
“ I will go myself.” It was a relief to feel himself on the 


244 


01/ THE FACE OE THE PTATEES. 


way back to be led by the nose, and as they helped him 
across the intervening courtyard he kept repeating his 
treasure, imagining her face when she heard it. 

“ Kuchch Chil-i-Room nahin kya, ya Shah-i-Roos, nahin 
Jo Kuchch kya na sara se, so cartouche ne.” 

A couplet, which, lingering still in the mouths of the 
people, warrants the old poetaster’s conceit of it, and — 
dog-anglicized — runs thus : 

“Nor Czar nor Sultan made the conquest easy, 

The only weapon was a cartridge greasy.” 

“The Queen? Where is the Queen?” fumed the old 
man, when he found an empty room instead of instant 
flattery; for he was, after all, the Great Moghul. 

“ She prays for the. King’s recovery,” said Fatma 
readily. “ I will inform her that her prayer is granted.” 
But as she passed on her errand, she winked at a com- 
panion, who hid her giggle in her veil; for Grand Turk or 
not, the women hold all the trump cards in seclusion. So 
how was the old man to know that the one who came in 
radiant with exaggerated delight at his return, had been 
interviewing his eldest son behind decorous screens, and 
that she was thanking Heaven piously for having sent 
him back to her apron-string in the very nick of time. 
Sent him, and Hussan Askuri, and pen and ink within 
reach of her quick wit. 

“ That is the best couplet my lord has done,” she said 
superbly. “ That must be signed and sealed.” 

So must a paper be, which lay concealed in her bosom. 
And as she spoke she drew the signet ring lovingly, play- 
fully from the King’s finger and walked over to where 
the scribe sat crouched on the floor. 

“ Ink it well, Pir-jee,” she said, keeping her back to 
the King; “the impression must be as immortal as the 
verse.” 

Despite the warning, a very keen ear might have 
detected a double sound, as if the seal had needed a 
second pressure. That was all. 

So it came about that, half an hour or so afterward, the 
Head-of-the-nine at the magazine was looking contemp- 


NOON. 


245 


tuously at a paper brought by the Palace Guards, and 
passed under the door, ordering its instant opening. 
George Willoughby laughed; but some of the eight 
dashed people’s impudence and cursed their cheek! 
Yet, after the laugh, the Head-of-the-nine walked over, 
yet another time, to that river bastion to look down at 
that white streak of road. How many times he had 
looked already. Heaven knows; but his grave face had 
grown graver, though it brightened again after a glance 
at the lemon bush. The black streak there would not 
fail them. 

“In the King’s name open!” The demand came 
from Mirza Moghul himself this time, for the Palace was 
without arms, without ammunition; and if they were to 
defend it, according to the Queen’s idea, against all 
comers, till there was time for other regiments to rebel, 
this matter of the magazine was important. Abool-Bukr 
was with him, half-drunk, wholly incapable, but full of 
valor; for a scout sent by the Queen had returned with 
the news that no English soldier was within ten miles of 
Delhi, and within the last half hour an ominous word had 
begun to pass from lip to lip in the city. 

Helpless ! 

The masters were helpless. Past two o’clock and not 
a blow in revenge. Helpless! The word made cowards 
brave, and brave folk cowards. And many who had 
spent the long hours in peeping from their closed doors 
at each fresh clatter in the street, hoping it was the mas- 
ter, looked at each other with startled eyes. 

Helpless! Helpless! 

The echo of the thought reached the main-guard, still 
in touch with the outside world, whence, as the day 
dragged by, fresh tidings of danger drifted down from 
the Ridge, where men, women, and children lay huddled 
helplessly in the Flagstaff Tower, watching the white 
streak of road. It seems like a bad dream, that hopeless, 
paralyzing strain of the eyes for a cloud of dust. 

But the echo won no way into the magazine, for the 
simple reason that it knew it was not hopeless. It could 
hold its own. 

“ Shoot that man Kureem Buksh, please, Forrest, if he 


246 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

comes bothering round the gate again. He is really very 
annoying. I have told him several times to keep back; 
so it is no use his trying to give information to the peojne 
outside.” 

For the Head-of-the-nine was very courteous. “ Scal- 
ing ladders?” he echoed, when a native superintendent 
told him that the princes, finding him obdurate, had 
gone to send some down from the Palace. “ Oh ! by all 
means let them scale if they like.” 

Some of the Eight, hearing the reply, smiled grimly. 
By all means let the flies walk into the parlor; for if that 
straight streak of road was really going to remain empty, 
the fuller the four square walls round the lemon bush 
could be, the better. 

“ That’s them, sir,” said one of the Eight cheerfully, 
as a grating noise rose above the hum outside. “ That’s 
the grapnels.” And as he turned to his particular gun 
of the ten, he told himself that he would nick the first 
head or two with his rifle and keep the grape for the 
bunches. So he smiled at his own little joke and waited. 
All the Nine waited, each to a gun, and of course there 
was one gun over, but, as the head of them had said, that 
could not be helped. And so the rifle-triggers clicked, 
and the stocks, came up to the shoulders; and then? — 
then there was a sort of laugh, and someone said under 
his breath, “Well, I’m blowed!” And his mind went 
back to the streets of London, and he wondered how 
many years it was since he had seen a lamplighter. For 
up ropes and poles, on roofs and outhouses, somehow, 
clinging like limpets, running like squirrels along the 
top of the wall, upsetting the besiegers, monopolizing the 
ladders, was a rush, not of attack but of escape! Let 
what fool who liked scale the wall and come into the 
parlor of the Nine, those who knew the secret of the 
lemon-bush were off. No safety there beside the Nine! 
No life-insurance possible while that lay ready to their 
hand! 

Would he ever see a lamplighter again? The trivial 
thought was with the bearded man who stood by his gun, 
the real self in him, hidden behind the reserve of courage, 
asking other questions too, as he waited for the upward 


NOON. 


247 


rush of fugitives to change into a downward rush of 
foes worthy of good powder and shot. 

It came at last — and the grape came too, mowing the 
intruders down in bunches. And these were no mere 
rabble of the city. They were the pick of the trained 
mutineers swarming over the wall to stand on the out- 
house roofs and fire at the Nine; and so, pressed in 
gradually from behind, coming nearer and nearer, drop- 
ping to the ground in solid ranks, firing in platoons; so 
by degrees hemming in the Nine, hemming in the lemon- 
bush. 

But the Nine were busy with the guns. They had to 
be served quickly, and that left no time for thought. 
Then the smoke, and the flashes, and the yells, and the 
curses, filled up the rest of the world for the present. 

“ This is the last round. I’m afraid, sir; we shan’t have 
time for another,” said a warning voice from the Nine, 
and the Head of them looked -round quietly. Not more 
than forty yards now from the guns; barely time, cer- 
tainly, unless they had had that other man! So he 
nodded. And the last round pealed out as recklessly, as 
defiantly, as if there had been a hundred to follow — 
and a hundred thousand — a hundred million. But one 
of the gunners threw down his fuse ere his gun recoiled, 
and ran in lightly toward the lemon-tree, so as to be 
ready for the favor he had begged. 

“ We’re about full up, sir,” came the warning voice 
-again, as the rest of the Nine fell back amid a desultory 
rattle of small arms. The tinkle of the last church bell, 
as it were, warning folk to hurry up — a last invitation to 
walk into the parlor of the Nine. 

“ We’re about full up, sir,” came that one voice. 

“ Wait half a second,” came another, and the Head- 
of-the-nine ran lightly to that river bastion for a last 
look down the white streak for that cloud of dust. 

How sunny it was! How clear! How still hthat world 
beyond the smoke, beyond the flashes, beyond the deafen- 
ing yells and curses. He gave one look at it, one short 
look — only one — then turned to face his own world, the 
world he had to keep. Full up indeed! No pyrotech- 
nist could hope for better audience in so small a place. 


248 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

“ Now, if you please! ” 

Someone in the thick of the smoke and the flashes 
heard the yells and curses and raised his cap — a last 
salute, as it were, to the school and schoolmaster. A 
final dismissal to the scholars — a thousand of them or so 
— about to finish their lesson of what men can do to hold 
their own. And someone else, standing beside the 
lemon-bush, bent over that faithful black streak, then 
ran for dear life from the hissing of that snake of fire 
flashing to the powder magazine. 

A faint sob, a whispering gasp of horror, came from the 
.thousand and odd; but above it came a roar, a rush, a 
i-ending. A little puff of white smoke went skyward 
first, and then slowly, majestically, a great cloud of rose- 
red dust grew above the ruins, to hang — a corona glit- 
tering in the slant sunbeams — over the school, the 
schoolmasters, and the scholars. 

It hung there for hours. To those who know the 
story it seems to hang there still — a bloody pall for the 
many; for the Nine, a crown indeed. 


CHAPTER V. 

SUNSET. 


‘‘ What’s that? ” 

The question sprung to every lip; yet all knew the 
answer. The magazine had saved itself. 

But in the main-guard, not six hundred yards off, 
where the very ground rocked and the walls shook, the 
men and women, pent up since noon, looked at each 
other when the first shock was over, feeling that here was 
the end of inaction. Here was a distinct, definite chal- 
lenge to Fate, and what would come of it? It was now 
close on to four o’clock; the day was over, the darkness 
at hand. What would it bring them? If Meerut, with 
its two thousand, was so sore beset that it could not 
spare one man to Delhi, what could they, a mere handful, 
hope for save annihilation? 


SUNSET. 


249 


Yet even Mrs. Seymour only clasped her baby closer, 
and said nothing. For there was no lack of courage 
anywhere. And Kate, with another child in her arms, 
paused as she laid it down, asleep at last, upon an officer’s 
coat, to feel a certain relief. If they were to fare thus, 
that bitter self-reproach and agonizing doubt for vanished 
Sonny was unavailing. His chance might well be better 
than theirs. 

Well indeed, pent up as they were cheek-by-jowl with 
four hundred unstable sepoys, and with the ominously 
rising hum of the unstable city on their unprotected rear. 
Up on the Flagstaff Tower crowning the extreme north- 
ern end of the Ridge, away from this hum, where Briga- 
dier Graves had gathered together the remaining women 
and children, so as to guard them as best he could with 
such troops as he had remaining — many of them too un- 
stable to be trusted cityward — they were in better plight. 
For they had the open country round them — a country 
where folk could still go and come with a fair chance of 
safety, since even the predatory tribes, always ready to 
take advantage of disorder, were still waiting to see what 
master the day would bring forth. And they had also 
the knowledge that something was being done, that they 
were not absolutely passive in the hands of Fate, after 
Dr. Balson started in disguise to summon that aid from 
Meerut which would not come of itself. Above all, they 
had the decision, they had the power to act ; while down 
in the main-guard they could but obey orders. Not that 
the Flagstaff Tower did much with this advantage; for 
it was paralyzed by that straining of the eyes for a cloud 
of dust upon the Meerut road which was the damnation of 
Delhi. Yet even here that decisive roar, that corona of 
red dust brightening every instant as the sun dipped to 
the horizon, brought the conviction that something must 
be done at last. But what? Hampered by women and 
children, what could they do? If, earlier in the day, they 
had sent all the non-combatants off toward Karnal or 
Meerut, with as many faithful sepoys as they could spare, 
arming everybody from the arsenal down by the river, 
they would have been free to make some forlorn hope — 
free, for instance, to go down m^masse to the main- 


250 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

guard and hold it, if they could. That was what one man 
thought, who, seven miles out from Delhi — returning 
from a reconnoissance of his own to see if help were on 
the way — saw that little puff of smoke, heard the roar, 
and watched the red corona grow to brightness. 

But on the Ridge, men thought differently. The 
claims of those patient women and children seemed para- 
mount, and so it was decided to get back the guns from 
the main-guard as a first step toward intrenching them- 
selves for the night at the tower. But the men in the 
main-guard looked at each other in doubt when the 
order reached them. Was the garrison going to be 
withdrawn altogether, leaving merely a forlorn hope to 
keep the gate closed as long as possible against the out- 
burst of rabble, to whom it would be the natural and 
shortest route to cantonments? If so, surely it would 
have been better to send the women away first? Still 
the orders were clear, and so the gate was set wide and 
the guns rumbled over the drawbridge under escort of 
a guard of the 38th. That, at any rate, was good 
riddance of bad rubbish; though the wisdom of sending 
the guns in such charge was doubtful. Yet how could 
the little garrison have afforded to give up a single man 
even of the still loyal 74th? — a company of whom had 
actually followed their captain to the ruins of the maga- 
zine to see if they could do anything, and returned, with- 
out a defaulter, to say that all was confusion — the dead 
lying about in hundreds, the enemy nowhere. 

“ How did the men behave, Gordon? ” asked their 
commandant anxiously, getting his Captain into a quiet 
corner. And the two men, both beloved of their regi- 
ment, both believing in it, both with a fierce, wild hope in 
their hearts that such belief would be justified, looked 
into each other’s faces for a moment in silence. There 
was a shadowing branch of neem overhead as they stood 
in the sunlight. A squirrel upon it was chippering at the 
glitter of their buckles; a kite overhead was watching the 
squirrel. 

“ I think they hesitated, sir,” said Captain Gordon 
quietly. 

Major Abbott turned hastily, and looked through the 


SUNSET. 


251 


Open gate, past the lumbering guns, to the open country 
lying peaceful, absolutely peaceful, beyond. If he could 
only have got his men there — away from the disloyalty 
of the 38th guard, the sullen silence of the 54th — if he 
could only have given them something to do! If he 
could only have said “Follow me!” they would have 
followed. 

And Kate Erlton, who, weary of the deadly inaction 
in the room above, had drifted down to the courtyard, 
stood close to the archway looking through it also, think- 
ing, not for the first time that weary day, of Alice Giss- 
ing’s swift, heroic death with envy. It was something to 
die so that brave men turned away without a word when 
they heard of it. But as she thought this, the look on 
young Mainwaring's face as he stood with others listen- 
ing to her story, came back to her. It had haunted her 
all day, and more than once she had sought him out, 
not for condolence — he was beyond that — but for a 
trivial word or two; just a human word or two to show 
him remembered by the living. And now the impulse 
came to her again, and she drifted back — for there was no 
hurry in that deadly, deadly inaction — to find him leaning 
listlessly against a wall digging holes in the dry dust idly 
with the point of his drawn sword for want of something 
better whereupon to use it. Such a young face, she 
thought, to be so old in its chill anger and despair! She 
went over to him swiftly, her reserve gone, and laid her 
hand upon his holding the sword. 

“ Don’t fret so, dear boy,” she said, and the fine curves 
of her mouth quivered. “ She is at peace.” 

He looked at her in a blaze of fierce reproach. “ At 
peace! How dare you say so? How dare you think so 
— when she lies — there.” 

He paused, impotent for speech before his unbridled 
hatred, then strode away indignantly from her pity, her 
consolation. And as she looked after him her own 
gentler nature was conscious of a pride, almost a pleasure 
in the thought of the revenge which would surely be 
taken sooner or later, by such as he, for every woman, 
every child killed, wounded — even touched. She was 
conscious of it, even though she stood aghast before a 


252 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

vision of the years stretching away into an eternity of 
division and mutual hate. 

A fresh stir at the gate roused her, a quick stir among 
a group of senior officers, recruited now by two juniors 
who had earned their right to have their say in any coun- 
cil of war. These were two artillery subalterns, begrimed 
from head to foot, deafened, disfigured, hardly believing 
in their own safety as yet. Looking at each other 
queerly, wondering if indeed they could be the Head- 
of-the-nine and his second in command, escaped by a 
miracle through the sally port in the outer wall of the 
magazine, and so come back to the drawbridge, as Kate 
Erlton had come, to join the refugees in the main-guard. 
Was it possible? And — and — what would the world say? 
That thought must have been in their minds. And, no 
doubt, a vain regret that they were under orders now, 
as they listened while Major Abbott read out those just 
received from cantonments. Briefly, to take back the 
whole of the loyal 74th and leave the post to the 38th and 
the 54th — about a hundred and fifty openly disloyal men. 

A sort of stunned silence fell on the little group, till 
Major Paterson of the 54th said quietly, officially to 
Major Abbott. ‘‘ If you leave, sir, I shall have to 
abandon the post; I could not possibly hold it. Some of 
my men who have returned to the colors here might 
possibly fight were we to stick together. But with re- 
treat, and the example of the 38th before them, they 
would not. I have, or I should have, lives in my charge 
when you are gone, and I warn you that I must use my 
own discretion in doing the best I can to protect them.” 

“ Paterson is right, Abbott,” put in the civil officer, 
who had stuck to his charge of the Treasury all day, and 
repelled the only attack made by the enemy during all 
those long hours. “ If I am to do any good, I must have 
men who will fight. I don’t trust the 54th ; and the 38th 
are clearly just biding their time. This retreat might 
have done six hours ago — might do now if it were 
general ; but I doubt it.” 

“ Anyhow,” put in another voice, if the 74th are to 
go, they should take the women with them — they couldn’t 
fare worse than they are sure to do here. I don’t think 
the Brigadier can realize ” 


SUNSET. 


253 


Couldn’t you refer it? ” asked someone; but the Major 
shook his head. The orders were clear; no doubt there 
was good cause for them. Anyhow they must be 
obeyed. 

“ Then as civil officer in charge of the Government 
Treasury, I ask for quarter-of-an-hour’s law. If by 
then ” 

The eager voice paused. Whether the owner thought 
once more of that expected cloud of dust, or whether 
he meant to gallop to cantonments in hope of getting the 
order rescinded is doubtful. Whether he went or stayed 
doubtful also. But the fifteen minutes of respite were 
given, during which the preparations for departure went 
on, the men of the 38th aiding in them with a new 
alacrity. Their time had come. Only a few minutes 
now before the last fear of a hand-to-hand fight would be 
over, the last chance of the master turning and rending 
them gone. It lingered a bit, though, for rumbling 
wheels came over the drawbridge once more, and voices 
clamored to be let in. The guns had returned. The 
gunners had deserted, said the escort insolently, and 
guns being in such case useless, they had preferred to 
rejoin their brethren; as for their officer, he had preferred 
to go on. 

Kate Erlton, drawn from the inner room once again by 
the creaking of the gates, saw a look pass between one 
or two of the officers. And there stood the 74th, smart 
and steady, waiting for marching orders. No need to 
close the gates again, since time was up ; the fifteen min- 
utes had slipped by, bringing no help, just as the long 
hours had dragged by uselessly. So the gate stood open 
to the familiar, friendly landscape, all aglow with the rays 
of the setting sun. Close at hand, within a stone’s throw, 
lay the tall trees and dense flowering thickets of the 
Koodsia gardens, where fugitives might have found 
cover. To the left were the ravines and rocks of the 
Ridge, fatal to^mounted pursuit, and in the center lay the 
road northward, leading straight to the Punjab, straight 
from that increasing roar of the city. There had been 
no attack as yet; but every soul within the main-guard 
knew for a certainty that the first hint of retreat would 
bring it. 


254 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

How could it do otherwise? The decisive answer of 
the magazine, with its thousand-and-odd good reasons 
against the belief that the master was helpless, had died 
away. The refuse and rabble of the city had ceased to 
wander awestruck among the ruins, murmuring, “ What 
tyranny is here? ” — that passive, resigned comment of 
the weaker brother in India. In the Palace, too, they had 
recovered the shock of the mean trick of the Nine, who, 
however, must, thank Heaven, be all dead too. 

So as the gate stood open, and the sun streamed 
through it into the wide courtyard, glinting on the 
buckles and bayonets. Major Abbott’s voice rose quietly. 
“ Are you ready, Gordon? ” The drawbridge was clear 
of the guns now, clear of everything save the slant 
shadows. 

‘‘ All ready, sir,” came the quiet reply. 

Number!” called the Commandant, but a voice at 
his right hand pleaded swiftly. “ Don’t wait for sec- 
tions, Huzoor! Let us go!” And another at his left 
whispered, “For God’s sake, Huzoor! quick; get them 
out quick ! ” 

Major Abbott hesitated a second, only a second. The 
voices were the voices of good men and true, whom he 
could trust. “Fours about! Quick march!” he cor- 
rected, and a sort of sigh of relief ran down the regiment 
as it swung into position and the feet started rhyth- 
mically. Action at last! — at long last! 

“ Good-by, old chap,” said someone cheerfully, but 
Major Abbott did not turn. “Good-by! Good-by!” 
came voices all round; steady, quiet voices, as the disci- 
plined tramp echoed on the drawbridge, and a bar of 
scarlet coats grew on the rise of the white road outside. 

“ Good-by, Gordon ! Good-by ! ” 

The tall figure in its red and gold was under the very 
arch, shining, glittering in the sunlight streaming 
through it. Another step or two and he would have been 
beyond it. But the time for good-by had come. The 
time for which the 38th had been waiting all day. He 
threw up his arms and fell dead from his horse without 
a cry, shot through the heart. The next instant the 
gate was closed, its creaking smothered in the wild, 


SUNSET. 


255 


senseless cry “ To kill, to kill, to kill,” in a wild, senseless 
rattle of musketry. For there was really no hurry; the 
handful of Englishmen were helpless. Major Abbott 
and his men might clamor for re-entry at the gate if they 
chose. They could not get in. Nor could the remnant 
of the 74th, deprived of its loyal companions, of the only 
two men who seemed to have controlled it, do anything. 
And the 54th were helpless also by their own act; for they 
had pushed Major Paterson through the gate before it 
closed. 

So there was no one left even to try and stem the tide. 
No one to check that beast-like cry. 

“ Mdro! Mdro! Mdrol'' 

But, in truth, it would have been a hopeless task. The 
game was up; the only chance was flight. And two, 
foreseeing this for the last hour, had already made good 
theirs by jumping from an embrasure in the rampart 
into the ditch, while one, uninjured by the fall, had 
scrambled up the counter-scarp, and was running like a 
hare for those same thickets of the Koodsia. 

“ Come on ! Come on ! ” cried others, seeing their suc- 
cess. And then? And then the cries and piteous 
screams of women reminded them of something dearer 
than life, and they ran back under a hail of bullets to that 
upper room which they had forgotten for the moment. 
And somehow, despite the cry of kill, despite the whist- 
ling bullets, they managed to drag its inmates to the 
embrasure. But — oh! pathos and bathos of poor 
humanity! making smiles and tears come together — the 
women who had stared death in the face all day without 
a wink, stood terrified before a twenty-feet scramble 
with a rope of belts and handkerchiefs to help them. It 
needed a round shot to come whizzing a message of cer- 
tain death over their heads to give them back a courage 
which never failed again in the long days of wandering 
and desperate need which was theirs ere some of them 
reached safety. 

But Kate neither hesitated nor jumped. She had not 
the chance of doing either. For that longing look of 
hers through the open gates had tempted her to creep 
along the wall nearer to them; so that the rush to close 


256 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


them jammed her into a corner against a door, which 
yielded slightly to her weight. Quick enough to grasp 
her imminent danger, she stooped instantly to see if the 
door could be made to yield further. And that stoop 
saved her life, by hiding her from view behind the crowd. 
The next moment she had pushed aside a log which had 
evidently rolled from some pile within, and slipped side- 
ways into a dark outhouse. She was safe so far. But 
was it worth it? The impulse to go out again and brave 
merciful death rose keen, until with a flash, the memory 
of that escape through the crowd came back to her; she 
seemed to hear the changing ready voice of the man who 
held her, to feel his quick instinctive grip on every chance 
of life. 

Chance ! There was a spell in the very word. A min- 
ute after logs jammed the door again, and even had it 
been set wide, none would have guessed that a woman, 
full of courage, ay! and hope, crouched behind the piles 
of brushwood. So she lay hidden, her strongest emo- 
tion, strange to say, being a raging curiosity to know 
what had become of the others, what was passing out- 
side. But she could hear nothing save confused yells, 
with every now and again a dominant cry of “ Been! 
Been! ” or “ Jai Kali ma! ” For faith is one of the two 
great passions which make men militant. The other, 
sex. But as a rule it has no cry; it fights silently, giv- 
ing and asking no words — only works. 

So fought young Mainwaring, who, with his back to 
that same wall against which Kate had found him lean- 
ing, was using his sword to a better purpose than digging 
holes in the dust; or rather had adopted a new method 
of doing the task. He had not tried to escape as the 
others had done; not from superior courage, but because 
he never even thought of it. When he was free to 
choose, how could he think of leaving those devils un- 
punished, leaving them unchecked to touch her dead 
body, while he lived? He gave a little faint sob of sheer 
satisfaction as he felt the first soft resistance, which meant 
that his sword had cut into flesh and blood; for all his 
vigorous young life made for death, nothing but death. 
Was not she dead yonder? 


SUNSET. 


257 


So, after a bit, it seemed to him there was too little of 
it there — that it came slowly, with his back to the wall 
and only those who cared to go for him within reach — 
for the crowd was dense, too dense for loading and fir- 
ing. Dense with a hustling, horrified wonder, a con- 
fused prodding of bayonets. So, without a sound, he 
charged ahead, hacking, hewing, never pausing, not even 
making for freedom, but going for the thickest silently. 

“ Amuk! Sayia! A-muk! ” The yell that he was mad, 
possessed, rang hideously as men tumbled over each 
other in their hurry to escape, their hurry to have at this 
wild beast, this devil, this horror. And they were right. 
He was possessed. He was life instinct with death; 
filled with but one desire — to kill, or to be killed 
quickly. 

“ Saiya! Amuk! Saiya ! — out of his way — out of his 
way! Amuk! Saiya! Fate is with him! The gods are 
with him. Saiya! Amuk! ” 

So, by chance, not method; so by sheer terror as well 
as hacking and hewing, the tall figure found itself, with 
but a stagger or two, outside the wooden gates, out on 
the city road, out among the gardens and the green trees. 
And then, “ Hip, hip, hurray ! ” His ringing cheer rose 
with a sort of laugh in it. For yonder was her house! — 
her house! 

Hip, hip, hurray ! As he ran, as he had run in races 
at school, his young face glad, the fingers on the triggers 
behind him wavered in sheer superstitious funk, and two 
troopers coming down the road wheeled back as from a 
mad dog. The scarlet coat with its gold epaulettes went 
crashing into a group red-handed with their spoil, out of 
it impartially into a knot of terrified bystanders, while 
down the lane left behind it by the hacking and hewing 
came bullet after bullet; the fingers on the triggers 
wavered, but some found a billet. One badly. He 
stumbled in the dust and his left arm fell oddly. But 
the right still hacked and hewed as he ran, though the 
crowd lessened ; though it grew thin, too thin for his pur- 
pose; or else his sight was failing. But there, to the 
right, the devils seemed thicker again. “ Hip, hip, hoo- 
ray!’^ No! trees. Only trees to hew — a garden — 


25 S ON' THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

perhaps the garden about her house — then, Hip, 

hip ’’ 

He fell headlong on his face, biting the soft earth in 
sheer despite as he fell. 

“ Don’t touch him, brothers! ” said one of the two or 
three who had followed at a distance, as they might have 
followed a mad dog, which they hoped others would meet 
and kill. “ Provoke him not, or the demon possessing 
him may possess us. ’Tis never safe to touch till they 
have been dead a watch. Then the poison leaves them. 
Krishnjee, save us! Saw you how he turned our lead? ” 

“ He has eaten mine. I’ll swear,” put in another sepoy 
boastfully, pointing gingerly with his booted foot to a 
round scorched hole in the red coat. ‘‘ The muzzle was 
against him as I fired.” 

“ And mine shall be his portion too,” broke in a new 
arrival breathlessly, preparing to fire at the prostrate 
foe; but the first speaker knocked aside the barrel with an 
oath. 

“ Not while I stand by, since devils choose the best 
men. As ’tis, having women in our houses ’twere best 
to take precautions.” He stooped down as he spoke, 
and muttering spells the while, raised a little heap of dust 
at the lad’s head and feet and outstretched arms — a little 
cross of dust, as it were, on which the young body lay 
impaled. 

“ What is’t? ” asked a haughty-looking native officer, 
pausing as he rode by. 

“ ’Tis a hell-doomed who went possessed, and Dittu 
makes spells to keep him dead,” said one. 

“ Fool! ” muttered the man. “ He was drunk, likely. 
They get like that, the cursed ones, when they take wine.” 
And he spat piously on the red coat as he passed on. So 
they left the lad there lying face down in the growing 
gloom, hedged round by spells to keep him from harming 
women. Left him for dead. 

But the scoffer had been right. He was drunk, but 
with the Elixir of Life and Love which holds a soul cap- 
tive from the clasp of Death for a space. So, after a 
time, the cross of dust gave up its victim; he staggered 
to his feet again; and so, tumbling, falling, rising to fall 


SUNSET, 259 

again, he made his way to the haven where he would be, 
to the side of a dead woman. 

And the birds, startled from their roosting-places by 
the stumbling, falling figure, waited, fluttering over the 
topmost branches for it to pass, or paused among them 
to fill up the time with a last twittering song of good- 
night to the day; for the sun still lingered in the heat- 
haze on the horizon as if loath to take its glow from that 
corona of red dust above the northern wall of Delhi, mute 
sign of the only protest made as yet by the master against 
mutiny. 

And now he had left the city to its own devices. The 
rebels were free to do as they liked. The three thou- 
sand disciplined soldiers, more or less, . might have 
marched out, had they chose, and annihilated the hand- 
ful of loyal men about the Flagstaff Tower. But it was 
sunset — sunset in Rumzan. And the eyes of thousands, 
deprived even of a drop of water since dawn, were watch- 
ing the red globe sink in the West, hungrily, thirstily; 
their ears were attuned but to one sound — the firework 
signal from the big mosque that the day’s fast was over. 
The very children on the roofs were watching, listening, 
so as to send the joyful news that day was done, in shrill 
voices to their elders below, waiting with their water- 
pots ready in their hands. 

Then, in good truth, there was no set purpose from 
one end of the city to another. From the Palace to the 
meanest brothel which had belched forth its vilest to swell 
the tide of sheer rascality which had ebbed and flowed all 
day, the one thought was still, “ What does it mean? 
How long will it last? Where is the master? ” 

So men ate and drank their fill first, then looked at 
each other almost suspiciously, and drifted away to do 
what pleased them best. Some to the Palace to swell 
the turmoil of bellicose loyalty to the King — loyalty 
which sounded unreal, almost ridiculous, even as it was 
spoken. Others to plunder while they could. The 
bungalows had long since been rifled, the very church 
bells thrown down and broken; for the time had been 
ample even for wanton destruction. But the city 
remained. And while shops .were being looted in- 


26 o on the face of the waters. 

side, the dispossessed Goojurs were busy over Met- 
calfe House, tearing up the very books in their 
revenge. The Flagstaff Tower lay not a mile away, 
almost helpless against attack. But there was no 
stomach for cold steel in Delhi on the nth of May, 
1857. No stomach for anything except safe murder, safe 
pillaging. 

Least of all in the Palace, where men had given the rein 
to everything they possessed. Their emotions, their 
horses, their passions, their aspirations. Stabling some 
in the King’s gardens, some in dream-palaces, some in 
pigstyes of sheer brutality. Weeping maudlin tears over 
heaven-sent success, and boasting of their own prowess 
in the same breath; squabbling insanely over the parti- 
tion of coming honors and emoluments. 

Abool-Bukr, drunk as a lord, lurched about asserting 
his intention of being Inspector-General of the King’s 
cavalry, and not leaving man, woman, or child of the hell- 
doomed alive in India. For he had been right when he 
had warned Newasi to leave him to his own life, his 
own death ; when he had shrunk from the inherited blood- 
stains on his hands, the inherited tinder in his breast. It 
had caught fire with the first spark, and there was fresh 
blood on his hands: the blood of a Eurasian boy who 
had tried to defend his sister from drunken kisses. 
Someone in the melee had killed the girl and finished the 
boy: for the Prince was saved from greater crime by 
tumbling into the gutter and setting his nose a-bleeding, 
a catastrophe which had sent him back to the Palace 
partially sobered. 

But Princess Farkhoonda Zamani, safe housed in 
the rooms kept for honored visitors, knew nothing of 
this, knew little even of the disturbances ; for she had been 
a close prisoner since noon — a prisoner with servants who 
would answer 'no questions, with trays of jewels and 
dresses as if she had been a bride. She sat in a flutter, 
trying to piece out the reason for this kidnaping. Was 
she to be married by force to some royal nominee? But 
why to-day? Why in all this turmoil, unless she was 
required as a bribe. The arch-plotter was capable of 
that. But who? One ^hing was certain, Abool-Bukr 


SUNSET. 


261 


could know nothing of this — he would not dare — and 
suddenly the hot blood tingled through every vein as she 
lay all unconsciously enjoying the return to the easeful 
idleness and luxury she had renounced. But if he did 
dare? If it was not mere anger which brought bewilder- 
ment to heart and brain, as she hid her face from the dim 
light which filtered in through the lattice — the dim, 
scented, voluptuous light from which she had fled once to 
purer air? 

And not a hundred yards , away from where she was 
trying to steady her bounding pulse, AboolTBukr him- 
self was bawling away at his favorite love-song to a cir- 
cle of intimates, all of whom he had already provided 
with places on the civil list. His head was full of prom- 
ises, his skin as full of wine as it could be, and he not be 
a mere wastrel unable to enjoy life. For Abool-Bukr 
gave care to this; since to be dead drunk was sheer loss 
of time. 

“ Ah mistress rare, divine, 

Thy lover like a vihe 
With tendril arms entwine.” 

Here his effort to combine gesture with song nearly 
caused him to fall off the steps, and roused a roar of 
laughter from some sepoys bivouacking under the trees 
hard by. But Mirza Moghul, passing hastily to an audi- 
ence with the King, frowned. To-day, when none knew 
what might come, the Queen might have her way so far; 
but this idle drunkard must be got rid of soon. He 
would offend the pious to begin with, and then he could 
not be trusted. Who could trust a man who had been 
known to lure back his hawk because a bird’s gay feath- 
ers shone in the sunshine? 

But Ahsan-Oolah, dismissed from feeling the royal 
pulse once more, by the Mirza’s audience, paused as he 
passed to recommend a cooling draught if the Inspector- 
General of Cavalry wanted to keep his head clear. It 
was the physician’s panacea for excitement of all kinds. 
But an exhibition of steel would have done better on the 
nth of May. 

There was no one, however, to administer it to Drfhi, 


262 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


and even the refugees in the Flagstaff Tower were be- 
ginning to give up hope of its arriving from Meerut. 
Those in the storehouse at Duryagunj still clung to the 
belief that succor must come somehow; but Kate Erlton, 
behind the wood-pile, knew that her hope lay only in 
herself. 

For how could Jim Douglas, as he more than once 
passed through the now open and almost deserted Cash- 
mere gate, in the hope, or rather the fear, of finding some 
trace of her, know that she was hidden within a few yards 
of him? or, how could she distinguish the sound of 
his horse’s hoofs from the hundreds which passed? 

She must have escaped with the others, he concluded, 
as he galloped toward the cantonments to see if she were 
there. But she was not. He had failed again, he told 
himself ; failed through no fault of his own ; for who could 
have foretold that madness of retreat from the gate? 

So now, there was nothing to be done in Delhi save 
gather what information he could, give decent burial — 
if he could — to Alice Gissing’s body, and, if no troops 
arrived before dawn, leave the city. 


CHAPTER VI. 

DUSK. 

‘‘I ENTREAT you to leave, sir. Believe me, there is 
nothing else to be done now. It will be dark in half an 
hour, and we shall need every minute of the night to 
reach Kamal.” 

It was said openly now by many voices. It had been 
hinted first when, the corona of red dust having just 
sprung to hide the swelling white dome of the distant 
mosque, a dismal procession had come slowly up the 
steep road to the tower with a ghastly addition to the 
little knot of white faces there — slowly, slowly, the drivers 
of the oxen whacking and jibing at them as if the cart 
held logs or refuse, as if the driving of it were quite com- 
monplace, Yet in a way the six bodies of English gen- 


DUSK. 


263 

tlemen it held were welcome additions; since it was 
something to see a dear face even when it is dead. But 
they were fateful additions, making the disloyal 38th regi- 
ment, posted furthest from the Tower — partly com- 
manded by it and the guns, in case of accident — shift 
restlessly. If others had done such work, ought not 
they to be up and doing? And now another procession 
came filing up from the city — the two guns returning 
from the Cashmere gate. They came on sullenly, slowly, 
yet still they came on ; another few minutes and the refu- 
gees would have been the stronger, the chances of 
mutiny weaker. The 38th saw this. Their advanced 
picket rushed out, drove off the gunners and the offi- 
cers, and, fixing bayonets, forced the drivers to wheel 
and set off down the road again at a trot. And down the 
road, commanded by other guns, they went unchecked; 
for the refugees did not dare to give the order to fire, lest 
it should be disobeyed. The effect, we read, would 
probably have been “ that the guns would have been 
swung round and fired on the orderers; and so not an 
European would have escaped to tell the tale; this catas- 
trophe, however, was mercifully averted and the crisis 
passed over.” It reads strangely, but once more, there 
were women and children to think of. And few men are 
strong enough to say, much less set it down in black and 
white as John Nicholson did, that the protection “ of 
women and children in some crises is such a very minor 
consideration that it ceases to be a consideration at all.” 

Still, it began to be patent to all that there was little 
good in remaining in a place where they did not dare 
to defend themselves. There were carriages and horses 
ready; the road to Karnal was still fairly safe. Would 
it not be better to retreat? But the Brigadier held out. 
He had, in deference partly to others, wholly for the sake 
of his helpless charges, weakened the pity post. Why 
should he have, done that if he meant to abandon his 
own ? Then he was an old sepoy officer who had served 
boy and man in one regiment, rising to its command at 
last, and he was loath to believe that the 38th regiment, 
which had been specially commended to him by his own, 
would turn against him, if only he were free to handle it. 


264 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

And this hope gained color from the fact, that to him 
personally and to his direct orders, the regiment was still 
cheerfully obedient. 

So the waiting went on, and there were no signs of the 
74th returning. What had happened? Fresh disaster? 
The voices urging retreat grew louder. 

“ Have it your own way, gentlemen,’’ said the Briga- 
dier at last. “ The women and children had better go, at 
any rate, and they will need protection; so let all retire 
who will, and in what way seems best to them. I stay 
here.” 

So on foot, on horseback, in carriages, the exodus be- 
gan forthwith; hastening more rapidly when the first 
man to jump from the embrasure at the Cashmere gate 
arrived with that tale of hopeless calamity. 

But still the Brigadier refused to join the rout. He 
had been hanging on the skirts of Hope all day, trying, 
wisely or unwisely, to shield women and children behind 
that frail shelter. So he had been tied hand gnd foot. 
Now he would be free. True! the mystery of oncoming 
dusk made that red city in the distance loom larger, but 
a handful of desperate men unhampered, with plenty of 
ammunition, might hold such a post as the Flagstaff 
Tower till help arrived. He meant to try it, at any rate. 
Then nearly half of the 74th had got away safely — they 
were long in turning up certainly — but when they came 
they would form a nucleus. The 54th were not all bad, or 
they would not have saved their Major. Even the 38th, 
if they could once be got away from the sight of weak- 
ness, from that ghastly cart with its mute witness to 
successful murder, might respond to a familiar common- 
place order. They were creatures of habit, with drill 
born in the blood, bred in the bone. 

“ I stay here,” he said shortly. Said it again, even 
when neither the escaped officers nor men turned up. 
Said it again, when the guns rolled off toward Meerut, 
leaving him face to face with a sprinkling of the 74th and 
54th, and the mass of the 38th, sullen, but still obedient. 

The sun, now some time set, had left a flaming pen- 
nant in the sky, barring it low down on the horizon with 
a blood-red glow marking the top of the dust-haze, and 


DUSK. 


265 


the quick chill of color which in India comes with the lack 
of sunlight, even while its heat lingers to the touch, had 
fallen upon all things — upon the red Ridge, upon the 
distant line of trees marking the canal, upon the level 
plain between them where all the familiar landmarks of 
cantonment life still showed clearly, despite the darken- 
ing sky. Guard-rooms, lines, bells-of-arms, wide parade- 
grounds — all the familiar surroundings of a sepoy’s life, 
and behind them that red flare of a day that was done. 

“ There is no use, sir, in stopping longer,” said the 
Brigade-major, almost compassionately, to the figure 
which sat its horse steadfastly, but with a despondent 
droop of the shoulders. 

“ No possible use, sir,” echoed the Staff Doctor kindly. 
The three were facing westward, for that vain hope of 
help from the east had been given up at last; and behind 
them, barely audible, was the faint hum of the distant 
city. A shaft of cormorants flying j heel- ward with 
barbed arrow head, trailed across the purpling sky; be- 
low them the red pennant was fading steadily. The day 
was done. But to one pair of eyes there seemed still 
a hope, still a last appeal to something beyond east or 
west. 

“ Bugler! sound the assembly! ” 

The Brigadier’s voice rang sharp over the plain, and 
was followed, quick as an echo, quick from that habit of 
obedience on which so much depended, by the cheerful 
notes. 

“Come — to the co-lors! Come quick, come all — 
come quick, come all — come quick! Quick! Come to 
the colors!” 

Last appeal to honor and good faith, to memory and 
confidence. But they had passed with the day. Yet not 
quite, for as the rocks and stones, the distant lines, the 
familiar landmarks gave back the call, a solitary figure, 
trim and smart in the uniform of the loyal 74th, fell in 
and saluted. 

In all that wide plain one man true to his salt, heroic 
utterly, standing alone in the dusk. A nameless figure, 
like many another hero. Yet better so, when we remem- 
ber that but a few hours before his regiment had volxm- 


266 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


teered to a man against their comrades and their country ! 
So sepoy , of company , can stand there, out- 

lined against the dying day upon the parade-ground at 
Delhi, as a type of others who might have stood there 
also, but for the lack of that cloud of dust upon the 
Meerut road. 

Brigadier Graves wheeled his horse slowly northward; 
but at the sight the sepoys of the 38th, still friendly to 
him personally, crowded round him urging speed. It 
was no place for him, they said. No place for the 
master. 

Palpably not. It was time, indeed, for the thud of 
retreating hoofs to end the incident, so far as the mas- 
ter was concerned ; the actual finale of the tragic mistake 
being a disciplined tramp, as the sepoy who had fallen in 
at the last Assembly fell out again, at his own word of 
command, and followed the master doggedly. He was 
killed fighting for us soon afterward. 

“ God be praised! ” said the 38th, as with curious de- 
liberation they took possession of the cantonments. 
“That is over! He has gone in safety, and we have 
kept the promise given to our brothers of the 56th not 
to harm him.’’ So, joined by their comrades from the 
city, they set guards and gave out rations, with double 
and treble doses of rum. Played the master, in fact, 
perfectly; until, in the darkness, a rumble arose upon the 
road, and one-half of the actors fled cityward inconti- 
nently and the other half went to bed in their huts like 
good boys. But it was not the troops from Meerut at 
last. It was only their old friends the guns, once more 
brought back from the fugitives by comrades who had 
finally decided to stand by the winning side. 

So the question has once more to be asked, “ What 
would have happened, if, eyen at that eleventh hour, there 
really had been a cloud Of dust on the Meerut road? 

As it was, confidence and peace were restored. In 
the city they had never been disturbed. It seemed 
weary, bewdldered by the topsy-turvydom of the day, 
desirous chiefly of sleep and dreams. So that Kate Erl- 
ton, peering out through a chink in the wood-store, felt 
that if she were ever to escape from the slow starvation 


DUSK. 


267 


which stared her in the face, she could choose no better 
time than this, when traffic had ceased, and the moon had 
not yet risen. She had settled that her best chance lay 
in creeping along the wall at first, then, taking advantage 
of the gardens, cutting across to that same sally-port 
through which the heroes of the magazine had told her 
they had made their escape. She did not know the exact 
situation, but she could surely find it. Besides, the ruins 
would most likely be deserted, and the other gates of the 
city, even if they were not closed for the night, as the 
gate here was, would be guarded. Once out of the city, 
she meant to make for the Flagstaff Tower; for, of 
course, she knew nothing of its desertion. 

So she set the door ajar softly, and crept out. And 
as she did so, the whiteness of her own dress, even in 
the dense blackness, startled her, and roused the trivial 
wish that she had put on her navy-blue cotton instead, 
as she had meant to do that day. Strange! how a mere 
chance — the word was like a spur always, and she crept 
along the wall, hoping that the smoking, flaring fire of 
refuse in the opposite corner, round which the guard 
were sitting, so as to be free of mosquitoes, might dazzle 
their eyes. It was her only chance, however, so she must 
risk it. Then suddenly, under her foot, she felt some- 
thing long, curved, snakelike. It was all she could do 
not to scream; but she set her teeth, and trod down 
hard with all her strength, her heart beating wildly in 
the awful suspense. But nothing struck her, there was 
no movement. Had she killed it? Her hand went down 
in the dark with a terror in it lest her touch should light 
on the head — perhaps within reach of the fangs. But 
she forced herself to the touch, telling herself she was a 
coward, a fool. 

Thank Heaven! no snake after all, only a rope. A 
rope that must have been used for tethering a horse, for 
here under her foot was straw, rustling horribly. No! 
not now — that was something soft. A blanket ; a horse’s 
double blanket, dark as the darkness itself. Here was a 
chance, indeed. She caught it up and paused deliber- 
ately in the darkest corner of the square, to slip off shoes 
and stockings, petticoats and bodice; so, in the scantiest 


268 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

of costumes, winding the long blanket round her, as a 
skirt and veil in ayah’s fashion. Her face could be hid- 
den by a modest down-drop over it, her white hands 
hidden away by the modest drawing of a fold across her 
mouth. Her feet, then, were the only danger, and the 
dust would darken them. She must risk that anyhow. 
So, boldly, she slipped out of the corner, and made for 
the gate, remembering to her comfort that it was not 
England where a lonely woman might be challenged all 
the more for her loneliness. In this heathen land, that 
down-dropped veil hedged even a poor grass-cutter’s 
wife about with respect. What is more, even if she 
were challenged, her proper course would be to be silent 
and hurry on. But no one challenged her, and she 
passed on into the denser shadows of the church garden 
to regain her breath; for it had gone somehow. Why, 
she knew not; she had not felt frightened. Then the 
question came, what next? Get to the magazine, some- 
how ; but the strain of looking forward seemed far worse 
than the actual doing, so she went on without settling 
anything, save that she would avoid roads, and give the 
stiir smoking roofless bungalows as wide a birth as pos- 
sible, lest, in the dark, she should come on some dead 
thing — a friend perhaps. And with the thought came 
that of Alice Gissing. The house lay right on her path 
to the magazine. Surely she must be near it now. Was 
that the long sweep of its roof against the sky? If she 
could see so much, the moon must be rising, and she 
could have no time to lose. As she crept along through 
the garden, she wondered why the bungalow had not 
been burned like the others. Perhaps the ayah’s friends 
had saved it, or, perhaps, there had not been much to 

attract them in the little hired house. Or, perhaps 

Hark! She* crouched back, from voices close beside 
her, and doubled a bit; but they seemed to follow her. 
And straight ahead the trees ended, and she must brave 
the open space by the house itself; unless, indeed, she 
slipped by the row of servant’s houses to the veranda, 
and so — through the rooms — gain the further side. Or 
she might hide in the house till these voices passed, 
There they were again! She made a breathless dash for 


busic. 


26^ 

the shadow, ran on till she found the veranda, and decid- 
ing to hide for a time, passed in at the first door — the 
door of the room where she had left Alice Gissing lying 
dead a few hours before. But it was too dark, as yet, 
to see if she lay there still, too dark to see even if the 
house had been plundered. It must have been, how- 
ever, for the very floor-cloths were gone; the concrete 
struck cold to her feet. And a sudden terror at the dark- 
ness, the emptiness, coming over her, she passed on 
rapidly to the faintly glimmering square of the further 
door, seen through the intervening rooms. There were 
three of them ; bedroom, drawing room, dining room, set 
in a row in Indian fashion, all leading into each other, all 
opening on to the veranda ; the two end ones opening also 
into the side veranda. She could get out again, therefore, 
by this further door. But it was bolted. She undid the 
bolts, only to find it hasped on the outside. A feeling of 
being trapped seized upon her. She ran to the other 
door. Hasped also. The drawing-room door? Firmer 
even than the others. But what a fool she was to feel 
so frightened, when she could always go out as she had 
come in when the voices had passed. She stole back 
softly, knowing they must be just outside, and almost 
fancying, in her alarm, that she heard a step in the 
veranda. But there was the glimmering square of 
escape, open. No! shut too! shut from the outside. 

Had they seen her and shut the door? And there, 
indeed, were footsteps! Loud footsteps and voices com- 
ing up the long flight of steps which led to the veranda 
from the road. Coming straight, and she locked in/ 
helpless. 

She threw up her hands involuntarily at a bright flash 
in the veranda. Was it lightning? No! a pistol shot, a 
quick curse, a fall. A yell of rage, a rush of those feet 
upon the steps, and then another flash, another, and 
another! More curses and a confused clashing! She 
stood as if turned to stone, listening. Hark! down the 
steps, surely, this time, another rush, a cry, a scuffle, a 
fall. Then, loud and unmistakable, a laugh! Then 
silence. 

Merciful Heavens! what was it? What had happened? 


OJ^ TifE FACE OF THE WATEES. 

She shook at the door gently, but still there was silence. 
Then, gripping the woodwork, she tried to peer out. But 
she could only see the bit of veranda in front of her 
which, being latticed in and hung with creepers, was 
very dark. The rest was invisible from within. She 
leaned her ear on the glass and listened. Was that a 
faint breathing? “Who’s there?” she cried softly; but 
there was no answer. She sank down on the floor in 
sheer bewilderment and tried to think what to do, and 
after a time, a faint glimmer of the rising moon aiding 
her, she went round to every door and tried it again. 
All locked inside and out. And now she could see that 
the house had been pillaged to the uttermost. There 
was literally nothing left in it. Nothing to aid her 
fingers if she tried to open the doors. By breaking the 
upper panes of glass, of course, she could undo the top 
bolt, but how was she to reach the bottom ones behind 
the lower panels? And why? why had they been 
locked? Who had locked the one by which she had 
come in? What was there that needed protection in 
that empty house. Was there by chance someone else? 
Then, suddenly, the remembrance of what she had left 
lying in the end room hours before came back to her. 
She had forgotten it utterly in her alarm and she crept 
back to see if Alice Gissing still kept her company. The 
bed was gone, but by the steadily growing glimmer of 
the moon she could see something lying on the floor in 
the very center of the room. Something strangely 
orderly, with a look of care and tidiness about it; but not 
white — and her dress had been white. Kate knelt down 
beside it and touched the still figure gently. What had 
it been covered with? Some sort of network, fine — 
silken — crimson. An officer’s sash surely! And now 
her eyes becoming accustomed to what lay before them, 
and the light growing, she saw that the curly head rested 
on an officer’s scarlet coat. The gold epaulettes were 
arranged neatly on either side the delicate ears so as not 
to touch them. Who had done this? Then that step 
she had thought she heard in the veranda must have been 
a real one. Someone must have been watching the dead 
woman. 


DUSK. 


271 


She was at the door in an instant rapping at a pane, 
“Herbert! Herbert! are you there? Herbert! Her- 
bert!” He might have done this thing. He might 
have come over from Meerut, for he had loved the dead 
woman, he had loved her dearly. 

Blit there was no answer. Then wrapping the blanket 
round her hand she dashed it through the pane, and 
removing the glass, managed to crane out a little. She 
could see better so. Was that someone, or only a heap 
of clothes in the shadow of the corner by the inner wall? 
By this time the moonlight was shining white on the 
orange-trees on the further side of the road. She could 
see beyond them to the garden, but nothing of the road 
itself, nothing of the steep flight of steps leading down 
to it; a balustrade set with pots filling up all but the 
center arch prevented that. 

“Herbert!” she cried again louder, “is that you?” 
But there was not a sound. 

God in heaven! who lay there? dying or dead? help- 
lessness broke down her self-control at last, and she crept 
back into the room, back to the old companionship, cry- 
ing miserably. Ah! she was so tired, so weary of it all. 
So glad to rest! A sense of real physical relief came to 
her body as, for the first time for long, long hours, she 
let her muscles slacken, and to her mind as she let herself 
cry on, like a child, forgetting the cause of grief in the 
grief itself. Forgetting even that after a time in sheer 
rest; so that the moon, when it had climbed high enough 
to peep in through the closed doors, found her asleep, 
her arms spread out over the crimson network, her head 
resting on what lay beneath it. But she slept dream- 
fully and once her voice rose in the quick anxious tones 
of those who talk in their sleep. 

“Freddy! Freddy!” she called. “Save Freddy, 
someone! Never mind, ayah! He is only a boy, and 

the other, the other may ” Then her words merged 

into each other uncertainly, after the manner of dreamers, 
and she slept sounder. 

Soundest of all, however, in the cool before the dawn; 
so that she did not wake with a stealthy foot in the side 
veranda, a stealthy hand on the hasp outside; did not 


272 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


wake even when Jim Douglas stood beside her, looking 
down vexedly on the blanket-shrouded figure pillowed 
on the body he came to seek. For he had been delayed 
by a thousand difficulties, and though the shallow grave 
was ready dug in the garden, the presence of this 
native — even though a woman, apparently — must make 
his task longer. Was it a woman? One hand on his 
revolver, he laid the other on the sleeper’s shoulder. His 
touch brought Kate to her feet blindly, without a cry, to 
meet Fate. 

“My God! Mrs. Erhon!” he cried, and she recog- 
nized his voice at once. Fate indeed! His chance and 
hers. His chance and hers! 

She stood half stupefied by her dreams, her waking; 
but he, after his nature, was ready in a second for action, 
and broke in on his own wondering questions im- 
patiently. “ But we are losing time. Quick! you must 
get to some safer place before dawn. Twist that blanket 
right — let me, please. That will do. Now, if you will 
follow close, I must get you hidden somewhere for to- 
day. It is too near dawn for anything else. Come! ” 

She put out her hand vaguely, as if to stave his swift 
decision away, and, looking in her face, he recognized 
that she must have time, that he must curb his own 
energy. 

“ Then it was you who fired,” she said in a dull voice. 
“ You who shut me in here? You who killed those 
voices. Why didn’t you answer when I called, when I 
thought it was Herbert? It was very unkind — very 
unkind.” 

He stared at her for a second, and then his hand went 
out and closed on hers firmly. “Mrs. Erlton! I’m 
going to save you if I can. Come. I don’t know what 
you’re talking about, and there is no time for talk. 
Come.” 

So, hand in hand, they passed into the side veranda, 
through which he had entered, and so, since the nearest 
way to the city lay down that flight of steps, to the front 
one. 

“ Take care,” he cried, half-stumbling himself, and 
forcing her to avoid something that lay huddled up 


DUSK. 


273 


against the wall. It was a dead man. And there, upon 
the steps which showed white as marble in the moon- 
light, were two others in a heap. A third lower down, 
ghastlier still, lying amid dark stains marring the white- 
ness, and with a gaping cut clearly visible on the 
shoulder. 

But that still further down! Jim Douglas gave a 
quick cry, dropped Kate’s hand, and was on his knees 
beside the tall young figure — coatless, its white shirt 
stiff with blood, which lay head downward on the last 
steps as if it had pitched forward in some mad pursuit. 
As he turned it over on its back gently, the young face 
showed in the moonlight stern, yet still exultant, and the 
sword, still clenched in the stiff right hand, rattled on 
the steps. 

“ Mainwaring! I don’t understand,” he said, looking 
up bewildered into Kate’s face. The puzzle had gone 
from it; she semed roused to life again. 

‘‘ I understand now,” she said softly, and as she spoke 
she stooped and raised the boy’s head tenderly in her 
hands. “ Don’t let us leave him here,” she went on 
eagerly, hastily. Leave him there, beside — beside — 
her.” 

Jim Douglas made no reply. He understood also 
dimly, and he only signed to her to take the feet instead. 
So together they managed to place that dead weight 
within the threshold and close the door. 

Then Jim Douglas held out his hand again, but there 
was a new friendliness in its grip. “Come!” he said, 
and there was a new ring in his voice, “ the night is far 
spent, the day is at hand.” 

It was true. As they stepped from the now waning 
moonlight into the shadow of the trees, the birds, begin- 
ning to dream of dawn, shifted and twittered faintly 
among the branches. And once, startling them both, 
there was a louder rustling from a taller tree, a flutter of 
broad white wings to a perch nearer the city, a half- 
sleepy cry of: 

‘'Been! Been! Futteh Mohammed! ” 

“ If I had time,” muttered Jirn Douglas fiercely, “ I 
would go and wring that cursed bird’s neck! But for 


2 74 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

it Kate’s tighter clasp on his hand seemed like 

an appeal, and he went on in silence. 

So, as they slipped from the gardens into the silent 
streets, the muezzin’s monotonous chant began from the 
shadowy minaret of the big mosque. 

Prayer is more than sleep ! — than sleep ! — than 
sleep ! ” 

The night was far spent; the day was indeed at hand — 
and what would it bring forth? Jim Douglas, with a 
sinking at his heart, told himself he could at least be 
thankful that one day was done. 


BOOK IV. 

SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE OFF 


CHAPTER I. 

THE DEATH PLEDGE. 

The outer court of the Palace lay steeped in the sun- 
shine of noon. Its hot rose-red walls and arcades seemed 
to shimmer in the glare, and the dazzle and glitter gave 
a strange air of unreality, of instability to all things. To 
the crowds of loungers taking their siesta in every arcade 
and every scrap of shadow, to the horses stabled in rows 
in the glare and the blaze, to the eager groups of new 
arrivals which, from time to time, came in from the outer 
world by the cool, dark tunnel of the Lahore gate to stand 
for a second, as if blinded by the shimmer and glitter, 
before becoming a part of that silent, drowsy stir of life. 

From an arch close to the inner entry to the precincts 
rose a monotonous . voice reading aloud. The reader 
was evidently the author also, for his frown of annoy- 
ance was unmistakable at a sudden diversion caused by 
the entry of a dozen or more armed men, shouting at the 
top of their voices: “ Padishah, Padishah, Padishah! We 
be fighters for The Faith. Padishah! a blessing, a 
blessing! ” 

A malicious laugh came from one of the listeners in 
the arcade — a woman shrouded in a Pathan veil. 

“ ’Tis as well his Majesty hath taken another cooling 
draught,” came her voice shrilly. “ What with writing 
letters for help to the Huzoors to please Ahsan-Oolah 
and Elahi-Buksh, and blessing faith to please the Queen, 
he hath enough to do in keeping his brain from getting 

275 


276 OM THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

dizzy with whirling this way and that. Mayhap faith 
will fail first, since it is not satisfied with blessings. They 
are windy diet, and I heard Mahboob say an hour agone 
that there was too much faith for the Treasury. Lo! 
moonshee-jee, put that fact down among thy heroics — 
they need balance ! ” 

“ Sure, niece Hafzan,'’ reproved the old editor of the 
Court Journal, ‘‘ I see naught that needs it. Syyed Ab- 
dulla’s periods fit the case as peas fit a pod; they hang 
together.” 

“As we shall when the Huzoors return,” assented the 
voice from the veil. 

“They will return no more, woman!” said another. 
It belonged to a man who leaned against a pilaster, look- 
ing dreamily out into the glare where, after a brief strug- 
gle, the band of fighters for the faith had pushed aside 
the timid door-keep^s and forced their way to the inner 
garden. Through the open door they showed pictur- 
esquely, surging down the path, backed by green foliage 
and the white dome of the Pearl Mosque rising against 
the blue sky. 

“The Faith! The Faith! We come to fight for the 
Faith! ” 

Their cry echoed over the drowsy, dreaming crowds, 
making men turn over in their sleep ; that was all. 

But the dreaminess grew in the face looking at the 
vista through the open door till its eyes became like those 
Botticelli gives to his Moses — the eyes of one who sees 
a promised land — and the dreamy voice went on: 

“ How can they teturn ; seeing that He is Lord and 
Master? Changing the Day to Darkness, the Darkness 
into Day. Holding the unsupported skies, proving His 
existence by His existence. Omnipotent. High in 
Dignity, the Avenger of His Faithful people.” 

The old editor waggled his head with delighted appro- 
val; the author fidgeted over an eloquence not his own; 
but Hafzan’s high laugh rang cynically: 

“ That may be so, most learned divine; yet I, Hafzan, 
the harem scribe, write no orders nowadays for King 
or Queen without the proviso of ‘ writ by a slave in pur- 
suance of lawful order and under fear of death ’ in some 


THE DEA TII PLEDGE, 


277 

quiet corner. For I have no fancy, see you, for hanging, 
even if it be in good company. But, go on with thy lead- 
ing article, moonshee-jee, I will interrupt no more.'' 

“ Thus by a single revolution of time the state of affairs 
is completely reversed, and the great and memorable 
event which took place four days ago must be looked 
upon as a practical warning to the uninformed and care- 
less, namely the British officers and those who never 
dreamed of the decline and fall of their government, but 
who have now convincing proof of what has been writ- 
ten in the Indelible Tablets by God. The following 
brief account, therefore, of the horrible and memorable 
events is given here solely for the sake of those still in- 
clined to treat them as a dream. On Monday, the i6th 
of Rumzan, that holy month in which the Word of God 
came down to earth, and in which, for all time, lies the 
Great Night of Power, the courts being open early on 
account of the hot weather, the magistrate discharging 
his wonted duties, suddenly the bridge toll-keeper ap- 
peared, informing him that a few Toork troopers had 
first crossed the bridge " 

The dreamy-faced divine turned in sharp reproach. 
“ Not so, Syyed-jee. The vision came first — the vision 
of the blessed Lord Ali seen by the muezzin. Wouldst 
make this time as other times, and deny the miracles by 
which it is attested as of God?" 

“ Miracles ! " echoed HMzan. I see no miracle in an 
old man on a camel." 

The divine frowned. Nor in a strange white bird 
with a golden crown, which hovered over tfie city giving 
the sacred cry? Nor in the fulfillment of Hussan 
Askuri's dream?" 

Hafzan burst into shrill laughter. ‘‘ Hussan Askuri ! 
Lo! Moulvie Mohammed Ismail, didst thou know the 
arch dreamer as I, thou wouldst not credit his miracles. 
He dreams to the Queen's orders as a bear dances to the 
whip. And as thou knowest, my mistress hath the knack 
of jerking the puppet strings. She hath been busy these 
days, and even the Princess Farkhoonda " 

‘'What of the Princess?" asked the newswriter, 
eagerly, nibbling his pen in anticipation. 


27 ^ ON' THE PACE OF THE W A TEES. 

“ Nay, not so ! ’’ retorted Hafzan. “ I give no news 
nowadays, since I cannot set ‘ spoken under fear of 
death ’ upon the words/' 

She rose as she spoke, yet lingered, to stand a second 
beside the divine and say in a softer tone, “ Dreams are 
not safe, even to the pious, as thou, Moulvie-sahib. A 
bird is none the less a bird because it is strange to Delhi 
and hath been taught to speak. That it was seen all 
know ; yet for all that, it may be one of Hussan Askuri’s 
tricks.” 

“ Let it be so, woman,” retorted Mohammed Ismail 
almost fiercely, “is there not miracle enough and to spare 
without it? Did not the sun rise four days ago upon 
infidels in power? Where are they now? Were there 
not two thousand of them in Meerut? Did they strike 
a blow? Did they strike one here? Where is their 
strength? Gone! I tell thee — gone!” 

Hafzan laid a veiled clutch on his arm suddenly and 
her other hand, widening the folds of her shapeless form 
mysteriously, pointed into the blaze and shimmer of sun- 
light. “ It lies there, Moulvie-sahib, it lies there,” she 
said in a passionate whisper, “ for God is on their side.” 

It was a pitiful little group to which she pointed. A 
woman, her mixed blood showing in her face, her 
Christianity in her dress, being driven along like a sheep 
to the shambles across the courtyard. She clasped a year- 
old baby to her breast and a handsome little fellow of 
three toddled at her skirts. She paused in a scrap of 
shade thrown by a tree which grew beside a small cistern 
or reservoir near the middle of the court, and shifted the 
heavy child in her arms, looking round, as she did so, 
with a sort of wild, fierce fear, like that of a hunted ani- 
mal. The cluster of sepoys who had made their prisoner 
over to the Palace guard turned hastily from the sight; 
but the guard drove her on with coarse jibes. 

“ The rope dangles close, Moulvie-jee,” came Hafzan's 
voice again. “Ropes, said I? Gentle ropes? Nay! 
only as the wherewithal to tie writhing limbs as they roast. 
If thou hast a taste for visions, pious one, tell me what 
thou seest ahead for the murderers of such poor souls? ” 

“Murderers,” echoed Mohammed Ismail swiftly; 


THE DEA TH PLEDGE. 


279 


'‘there is no talk of murder. Tis against our religion. 
Have I not signed the edict against it? Have we not pro- 
tested against the past iniquity of criminals, and ignorant 
beasts, and vile libertines like Prince Abool-Bukr, who 
take advantage ’’ 

“He was too drunk for much evil, learned one!’" 
sneered Hafzan. “ Godly men do worse than he in their 
own homes, as I know to my cost. As for thine edict! 
Take it to the Princess Farkhoonda. She is a simple 
soul, though she holds the vilest liver of Delhi in a 
leash. But the Queen — the Queen is of different mettle, 
as you edict-signers will find. There are nigh fifty such 
prisoners in the old cook-room now. Wherefore? ’’ 

“ For safety. There are nigh forty in the city police 
station also.’' 

Hafzan gathered her folds closer, “ Truly thou art a 
simple soul, pious divine. Dost not think there is a dif- 
ference, still, between the Palace and the city? But 
God save all women, black or white, say I! Save them 
from men, and since we be all bound to hell together 
by virtue of our sex, then will it be a better place than 
Paradise by having fewer men in it.” 

She flung her final taunts over her shoulder at her 
hearers as she went limping off. 

“ Heed her not, most pious ! ” said her uncle apologeti- 
cally. “ She hath been mad against men ever since hers, 
being old and near his end, took her, a child, and ” 

But Moulvie Mohammed Ismail was striding across the 
courtyard to the long, low, half-ruinous shed in which 
the prisoners were kept. 

“ Have they proper food and water? ” he asked sharply 
of the guard. “ The King gave orders for it.” 

“ It comes but now ! ” replied the sergeant glibly, 
pointing to a file of servants bearing dishes which were 
crossing the courtyard from the royal kitchens. The 
Moulvie gave a sigh of relief, for Hafzan’s hints had 
alarmed him. These same helpless prisoners lay on his 
conscience, since he and his like were mainly responsi- 
ble for the diligent search for Christians which had been 
going on during the last few days; for it was not to be 
tolerated that the faithful should risk salvation by con- 


28 o 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


cealing them. The proper course was plain, unmistak- 
able. They should be given up to the authorities and 
be made into good Mohammedans; by persuasion if 
possible, if not, by force. In truth the Moulvie dreamed 
already of ninety and odd willing converts, as a further 
manifestation of divine favor. Perhaps more; though 
most of these ill-advised attempts at concealment must 
have come to an end by now. 

They had indeed; those four days of peace, of hourly 
increasing religious enthusiasm for a cause so evidently 
favored by High Heaven, had made it well nigh impossi- 
ble to carry on a task attempted by so many, when it 
seemed likely to last for a few hours only. 

Even Jim Douglas told himself he must fail unless he 
could get help. He had succeeded so far, simply because 
— by a mere chance — he had, not one but several, places 
of concealment ready to his hand without the necessity 
for taking anyone into his confidence. For he had found 
it convenient in his work to have cities of refuge, as it 
were, where he could escape from curiosity or change 
a disguise at leisure. The shilling or so a month re- 
quired for the rent of a room in some tenement house 
being more than repaid by the sense of security the pos- 
session gave him. It was to one of these, therefore, that 
he took Kate on the dawn of the 12th, leaving her locked 
up in it alone; till night enabled him to take her on to 
another; so by constant change managing to escape sus- 
picion. But as the days passed in miraculous peace, he 
recognized the hopelessness of continuing this life for 
long. To begin with, Kate's nerves could not stand it. 
She was brave enough, but she had an imagination, and 
what woman with that could stand being left alone in the 
dark for twelve hours at a time, never knowing if the slow 
starvation, which would be her fate if anything untoward 
happened to him, had not already begun? He could not 
expect her to stand it, when three days of something far 
less difficult had left him haggard, his nerves unstrung; 
left him with the possibility looming in the future of his 
losing his self-control some day, and going madly for the 
whole world as young Mainwaring had done. Not that 
he cared for Kate’s safety so much, as that the mere 


THE DEATH PLEDGE. 


281 


thought of failure roused a beast-like ferocity in him. 
So, as he wandered restlessly about the city, waiting in a 
fever of impatience for some sign of the world without 
those rose-red walls — waiting day by day, with a growing 
tempest of rage, for the night to return and let him creep 
up some dark stairs and assure himself of a woman’s 

safety, he was piecing together a plan in case Of 

what? In case the stories he heard in the bazaars were 
true? No! that was impossible. How could the Eng- 
lish have been wiped out of India? Yet as he saw the 
deserted shops being reopened in solemn procession by 
an old pantaloon on an elephant calling himself the 
Emperor, when he saw Abool-Bukr letting off squibs 
in general rejoicing over the re-establishment of Moham- 
medan empire; above all when he saw the tide of life 
returning to the streets, his mad desire to strike a blow 
and smash the sham was tempered by an almost unbear- 
able curiosity as to what had really happened. But he 
dared not try and find out. Useless though he knew it 
was, he hung round the quarter where Kate lay concealed 
for the day, feeling a certain consolation in knowing that 
he was as close to her as he dared to be. Such a life was 
manifestly impossible, and so, bit by bit, his plan grew. 
Yet, when it had grown, he almost shrank from it, so 
strange did it seem, in its linking of the past with the 
present. For Kate must pass as his wife — his sick wife, 
hidden, as Zora had been, on some terraced roof, with 
Tara as her servant; he, meanwhile, passing as an Afghan 
horse-dealer, kept from returning North, like others of 
his trade, by this illness in his house. The plan was per- 
fectly feasible if Tara would consent. And Jim Douglas, 
though he ignored his own certainty, never really doubted 
that she would. He had not been born in the mist- 
covered mountains of tlie North for nothing. Their 
mysticism was part of his nature, and he felt that he had 
saved her for this; that for this, and this only, he had 
played that childish but successful cantrip with her hair. 
In a way, was not tPfe pathetic idyll on the roof with little 
Zora but a rehearsal of a tragedy — a rehearsal without 
which he could not have played his part? Strange thread 
of fate, indeed, linking these women together! and though 


282 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


he shrank from admitting its very existence, it gave him 
confidence that the whole would hang together securely. 
So that when he sought Tara out, his only real doubt was 
whether it would be wiser to tell her the truth about 
Kate, or assert that she was his wife. He chose the lat- 
ter as less risky, since, even if Tara refused aid, she would 
not overtly betray anyone belonging to him. 

But Tara did not refuse. To begin with, she could 
have refused nothing in the first joy of finding him safe 
when she had believed him dead like all the other 
Huzoors. And then a vast confusion of love, and pride, 
and remorse, and fierce passionate denial of all three, led 
her into consent. If the Huzoor wanted her to help to 
save his wife why should she object? Though it was 
nothing to her if the mem was his mem or not. Jim 
Douglas, listening to the eager protest, wondered if he 
might not safely have saved himself an unnecessary com- 
plication; but then he wondered at many things Tara 
said and did. At her quick frown when he promised her 
both hair and locket as her reward. At the faint quiver 
amid the scorn with which she had replied that he would 
still want the latter for the mem’s hair. At her slow 
smile when he opened the gold oval to show the black 
lock still in sole possession. She had turned aside to 
look at the hearth-cakes she had been toasting when he 
came in, and then gone into the necessary details of 
arrangement in the most matter-of-fact way. Naturally 
the Huzoor had sought help from his servant. From 
whom else could he seek it? As for her saintship, there 
was nothing new in that. She had been suttee always 
as the master very well knew. So nothing she did for 
him, or he for her, could make that suffer. Therefore she 
would arrange as she had arranged for Zora. The 
Huzoor must rent a roof — roofs were safest — and she 
would engage a half-blind, half-deaf old sweeper-woman 
she knew of. Perhaps another if need be. But the 
Huzoor need have no fear of such details if he gave her 
money. And this Jim Douglas had hidden in the garden 
of his deserted bungalow in Duryagunj ; so that in truth 
it seemed as if the whole plan had been evolved for them 
by a kindly fate. 


THE DEATH PLEDGE. 


283 

And yet Jim Douglas felt a keen pang of regret when, 
for the first time, he gave the familiar knock of those old 
Lucknow days at the door of a Delhi roof and Tara 
opened it to him, dressed in the old crimson drapery, 
the gold bangles restored to her beautiful brown arms. 
He had brought Kate round during the previous night 
to the lodging he had managed to secure in the Mufti’s 
quarter, and, leaving her there alone, had taken the key 
to Tara; this being the safest plan, since everything 
could then be arranged in discreet woman’s fashion be- 
fore he put in appearance. 

And the task had been done well. The outside square 
or yard of parapeted roof which he entered lay conven- 
tional to the uttermost. A spinning-wheel here, a row 
of water-pots there, a mat, a reed stool or two, a cooking 
place in one corner, a ragged canvas screen at the inner 
doors. Nothing there to prepare him for finding an 
Englishwoman within; an Englishwoman with a faint 
color in her wan cheeks; a new peace in her gray eyes, 
busy — Heaven save the mark! — in sticking some dis- 
jointed jasmine buds into the shallow saucer of a water- 
pot. 

“ Tara brought them strung on a string,” said Kate 
half apologetically after her first welcome, as she noted 
his look. “J suppose she meant me to wear them— 
with the other things,” she paused to glance down with 
a smile at her dress, “ but it seemed a pity. They were 
like a new world to me — like a promise — somehow.” 

He sat down on the edge of the string bed feeling a 
little dazed and looked at her and her surroundings 
critically. It was a pleasant sunshiny bit of roof, vaulted 
by the still cool morning sky. There was a little arcaded 
room at one end, the topmost branches of a neem tree 
showed over one side; on the other, the swelling dome 
of the big mosque looked like a great white cloud, and 
in one corner was a sort of square turret, from the roof 
of which, gained by a narrow brick ladder, the whole 
city was visible. For it was the highest house in the 
quarter, higher even than the roof beside it, over which 
the same neem tree cast a shadow. 

And as he looked, he thought idly that no dress in the 


284 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

world was more graceful than the Delhi dress with its 
billowy train and loose, soft, filmy veil. And Kate 
looked well in white — all in white. He pulled himself 
up sharply; but indeed memory was playing him tricks, 
and the stress and strain of reality seemed far from that 
slip of sun-saturated roof where a graceful woman in 
white was sticking jasmine buds into water. And sud- 
denly the thought came that Zora would have worn the 
chaplets heedlessly; there would have been no senti- 
mentality over withered flowers on her part. 

'‘A promise,” he echoed half-bitterly. “Well! one 
must hope so. And even if the worst comes, it will come 
easier here.” 

She looked up at him reproachfully. “ Don’t remind 
me of that, please,” she said hurriedly; “ I seem to have 
forgotten — here under the blue sky. I dare say it’s very 
trivial of me, but I can’t help it. Everything amuses me, 
interests me. It is so quaint, so new. Even this dress; 
it is hardly credible, but I wished so much for a looking- 
glass just now, to see how I looked in it.” 

Her eyes met his almost gayly, and he felt an odd 
resentment in recognizing that Zora would have said the 
words as frankly. 

“ I have one here — in a ring,” he replied somewhat 
stiffly, with a vague feeling he had done all this before, 
as he untied the knot of a small bundle he had brought 
with him. “ It is not much use — for that sort of thing — 
I’m afraid,” he went on, “ but I think you had better 
have these : it is a great point — even for your own sake — 
to dress as well as play the part.” 

Kate, with a sudden gravity, looked at the pile of 
native ornaments he emptied out on to the bed. Brace- 
lets in gold and silver, anklets, odd little jeweled tassels 
for the hair, quaint silk-strung necklets and talismans. 

“ Here is the looking-glass,” he said, choosing out a 
tiny round one set in filigree gold; “ you must wear it on 
your thumb — but it will barely go on my little finger,” 
he spoke half to himself, and Kate, fitting on the ring, 
looked at him and set her lips. 

“ It is too small for me also,” she said, laying it down 
with a faint air of distaste. “ They are very pretty, Mr, 


' THE DEATH PLEDGE, 285 

GreymanJ’ she added quickly, “ but I would rather not — 
unless it is really necessary — unless you think 

He rose half-wearily, half-impatiently. “ I should 
prefer it; but you can do as you like. The jewels be- 
longed to a woman I loved very dearly, Mrs. Erlton. 
She was not my wife — but she was a good woman for 
all that. You need not be afraid.” 

Kate felt the blood tingle to her face as she laid violent 
hands on the first ornament she touched. It happened 
to be a solid gold bangle. “ It is too small too,” she 
said petulantly, trying to squeeze her hand through it. 
“ Really it would be better ” 

“ Excuse me,” he replied coolly, ‘‘ if you will let me.” 
He drew the great carved knobs apart deftly, slipped her 
wrist sideways through the opening, and had them closed 
again in a second. 

“ You can’t take it off at night, that is all,” he went on, 
“ but I will tell Tara to show you how to wear the rest. 
I must be off now and settle a thousand things.” 

As he passed into the outer roof once more, Kate felt 
that flush, half of resentment, half of shame, still on her 
face. In such surroundings how trivial it was, and yet 
he had guessed her thought truly. Had he guessed 
also the odd thrill which the touch of that gold fetter 
gave her? Half-mechanically she tried to loosen it, to 
remove it, and then with an impatient frown desisted and 
began to put on the other bracelets. What did it matter, 
one way or the other? And then, becoming interested 
despite herself, she set to work to puzzle out uses and 
places for the pile. 

Meanwhile Jim Douglas was dinning instructions 
into Tara’s ear; but she also, he told himself angrily, was 
trivial to the last degree. And when finally he urged 
an immediate darkening of Kate’s hair and a faint stain- 
ing of the face to suit the only part possible with her gray 
eyes — that of a fair Afghan — he flung away in despair 
from the irrelevant remark: 

“ But the mem will never be so pretty as Zora; and 
besides she has such big feet.” 

Big feet! He swore under his breath that all women 
were alike in this, that they saw the whole world through 


286 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

the medium of their sex; and that was at the bottom of 
all the mischief. Delhi had been lost to save women; 
the trouble had begun to please them. Even now, as 
far as he could see, resistance would collapse but for one 
woman’s ambition; though despite the Queen and her 
plots, a hundred brave men or so might still be masters 
of Delhi if they chose. Since it was still each for him- 
self, and the devil take the hindmost with the mutineers. 
The certainty of this had made these long days of inac- 
tion almost beyond bearing to him; and as Jim Douglas 
passed out into the street he thought bitterly that here 
again a woman stood in the way ; since but for Kate he 
could surely have forced Meerut into making reprisals 
by reporting the true state of affairs. 

Yet every hour made these reprisals more difficult. 
Indeed, as he left the Mufti’s quarters on that morning 
of the 1 6th of May, something was going on in the 
Palace which ended indecision for many a man and left 
no chance of retreat. For Zeenut Maihl saw facts as 
clearly as Jim Douglas, and knew that the first tramp of 
disciplined feet would be the signal for scuttle; if a 
chance of escape remained. 

And so this something was going on. By someone’s 
orders of course; by whose is one of the unanswered 
questions of the Indian Mutiny. 

The Queen herself was sitting with the King, amic- 
ably, innocently, applauding his latest couplet; which 
was in sober truth, one of his best: 

** God takes this dice-box world, shakes upside down, 

Throws one defeat, and one a kingly crown.” 

He was beginning to feel the latter on the old head, 
which was so diligently stuffed with dreams; but the 
Queen knew in her heart of hearts that the fight for 
sovereignty had only just begun. So her mind was 
chiefly occupied in a spiteful exultation at the thought 
of some folk’s useless terror when — this thing being 
done — they would find their hands irrevocably on the 
plow. Ahsan-Oolah and Elahi-Buksh, for instance; 
their elaborate bridges would be useless; and Abool- 
Bukr with bis squibs and processions, Farkhoonda with 


THE DEA TH PLEDGE, 


2B7 

her patter of virtue and religion. If only for the sake 
of immeshing this last victim Zeenut Maihl would not 
have shrunk; since those three or four days of cozening 
had left the Queen with a still more vigorous hate for the 
Princess Farkhoonda, who had fallen into the trap so 
easily, and who already began to give herself airs and 
discuss the future on a plane of equality. Pretty, con- 
ceited fool! who even now, so the spies said, was wait- 
ing to receive the Prince, her nephew, for the first time 
since she came to the Palace. The very fact that it was 
the first time seemed an aggravation in the Queen^s 
angry eyes, proving as it did a certain reality in Fark- 
hoonda’s pretensions to decorum. 

In truth they were very real to the Princess herself; 
had been gaining reality ever since that first deft sugges- 
tion of a possibility had set her heart beating. The 
possibility, briefly, of the King choosing to set aside that 
early marriage so tragically interrupted; choosing to 
declare it no marriage and give his consent to another. 
Newasi had indignantly scouted the suggestion, had 
stopped her ears, her heart; but the remembrance of it 
lingered, enervating her mind, and as she waited for the 
interview with the Prince she. felt vaguely that it was a 
very different matter receiving him in these bride-like 
garments, in th^se dim, heavily scented rooms, to what it 
had been under the clear sky in her scholar’s dress. Yet 
as she stooped from mere habit, aroused by the finery 
itself, to arrange her long brocaded train into better folds, 
she gave something between a sigh and a laugh at the 
certainty of his adrniration. And after all, why should 

she not have it if the King 

The sound of a distant shot made her start and pause, 
listening for another. So she stood a slim figure ablaze 
with color and jewels, a figure with studied seductiveness 
in every detail of its dress; and she knew that it was so. 

Why not? If — if he liked it so, and if the King 

Newasi clasped her hands nervously and walked up 
and down the dim room. Abool was late, and he had no 
right to be late on this his first visit of ceremony to his 
aunt. The Mirza-sahib was no doubt late, admitted her 
attendants, but the door-keeper had reported a disturb- 


288 


OM THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


ance of some kind in the outer court which might be the 
cause of delay. 

A disturbance! Newasi, a born coward, shrank from 
the very thought, though she felt that it could be noth- 
ing — nothing but one of the many brawls, the constant 
quarrels. 

God and his prophet! who — what was that? She re- 
coiled with a scream of terror from the wild figure which 
burst in on her unceremoniously, which followed her 
retreat into the far corner, flung itself at her knees, clasp- 
ing them, burying its face among her scented draperies. 
But by that time her terror was gone, and she stooped, 
trying to free herself from those clinging arms, from the 
disgrace, from the outrage; from the drunken 

“ Abool ! ’’ she cried fiercely, then turning to the 
curious tittering women, stamped her foot at them and 
bade them begone. And when they had obeyed, she 
beat her little hands against the clinging one’s again with 
wild upbraidings, till suddenly they fell as if paralyzed 
before the awful horror and dread in the face which rose 
from her fineries. 

“Come, Newasi!” stammered the white trembling 
lips, “ come from this hangman’s den. Did I not warn 
thee? But thou hast put the rope round my neck — I 
who only wanted to live my own life, die my own death. 
Gome! Come!” 

He stumbled to his feet, but seemed unable to stir. 
So he stood looking at his hands stupidly. 

Farkhoonda looked too, her face growing gray. 

“ What is’t, Abool? ” she faltered; “ what is’t, dear? ” 

But she knew; it was blood, new shed, still wet. 

He stood silent, gazing at the stains stupidly. “ I did 
not strike,” he muttered to himself, “ but I called; or did 

I strike? I — I ” He threw up his head and his 

words rushed recklessly in a high shrill voice, “ I warned 
thee! I told thee it. was not safe! They were herded 
like sheep in the sunshine by the cistern, and the smell of 
blood rose up. It was in my very nostrils, for, look you, 
that first shot missed them and killed one of my men. I 
saw it. A round red spot oozing over the white — and 
they herded like sheep ” 


THE DEATH PLEDGE. 


289 


“ Who?’^ she asked faintly. 

“ I told thee; the prisoners, with the cry to kill above 
the cries of the children, the flash of blood-dulled swords 

above women’s heads — and I Nay! I warned thee, 

Newasi, there was butcher here '" — his blood-stained 
hands left their mark on his gay clothes. 

“ Abool! ” she cried, “ thou didst not ” 

“Did I?” he almost screamed. “God! will it ever 
leave my sight? I gave the call, I ran in, I drew my 
sword. It spurted over my hands from a child’s throat 
as I would have struck — or — or — did I strike? Ne- 
wasi ! ” his voice had sunk again almost to a whisper, 

“ it was in its mother’s arms, — she did not cry, — she 

looked and I — I ” he buried his face in his hands — 

“ I came to thee.” 

She stood looking at him for a moment, her hands 
clenched, her beautiful soft eyes ablaze; then recklessly 
she tore the jewels from her arms, her neck, her hair. 

“So she has dared! Yea! Come! thou art right, 
Abool ! ” The words mixed themselves with the tinkle 
of bracelets as, flung from her in wild passion, they rolled 
into the corners of the room, with the chink of necklaces 
as they fell, with the rustle of brocade and tinsel as she 
tore them from her. “ She has killed them — the helpless 
fugitives, guests who have eaten the King’s salt! She 
thinks to beguile us all — to beguile thee. But she shall 
not. It is not too late. Come! Come! Abool — thou 
shalt have all from me — yea! all, sooner than she should 
beguile thee thus — Come ! ” 

She had snatched an old white veil from its peg and . 
wrapped it round her, as she passed rapidly to the door; 
but he did not move. So she passed back again as 
swiftly to take his hand, stained as it was, and lay her 
cheek to it caressingly. 

“Thou didst not strike, dear, thou didst not! Come, 
dear, that she-devil shall not have thee — I will hold thee 
fast.” 

Five minutes after a plain curtained dhoolie left the 
precincts and swayed past the Great Hall of Audience 
with its toothed red arches, looking as if they yawned 
for victims. The courtyard beyond lay strangely silent. 


290 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

despite the shifting crowd, which gathered and melted 
and gathered again round the little tree-shaded cistern 
where but the day before Hafzan and the Moulvie had 
watched a mother pause to clasp her baby to softer, 
securer rest. 

The woman and the child were at the cistern now, and 
the Rest had come. Softer, securer than all other rest, 
and the mother shared it; shared it with other women, 
other children. 

But as the Princess Farkhoonda, fearful of what she 
might see, peeped through the dhoolie curtains, there 
was nothing to be seen save the shifting, curious crowd, 
while the impartial sunshine streamed down on it, and 
those on whom it gazed. 

So let the shifting, crowding years with their relentless 
questioning eyes shut out all thought of what lay by the 
cistern, save that of rest and the impartial sunshine 
streanaing upon it. 

For as the beautiful soft eyes drew back relieved, a 
bugle rang through the arcades, echoed from the wall, 
floated out into the city. The bugle to set watch and 
ward, to close the gates; since the irrevocable step had 
been taken, the death-pledge made. 

So the dream of sovereignty began in earnest behind 
closed gates. But if women had lost Delhi, those who 
lay murdered about the little cistern had regained it. 
For Hafzan had spoken truth; the strength of the 
Huzoors lay there. 

The strength of the real Master. 


CHAPTER 11. 

peace! peace! 

Three weeks had passed, and still the dream of sover- 
eignty went on behind the closed gates, while all things 
shimmered and simmered in the fierce blaze of summer 
sunlight. The city lay — a rose-red glare dazzling to 
look at — ^beside the glittering curves of the river, and the 


PEACE! PEACE! 


291 


deserted Ridge, more like a lizard than ever, sweltered 
and slept lazily, its tail in the cool blue water, its head 
upon the cool green groves of the Subz-mundi. And 
over all lay a liquid yellow heat-haze blurring every out- 
line, till the whole seemed some vast mirage.. 

And still there were no tidings of the master, no cloud 
of dust upon the Meerut road. None. 

Amazing, incredible fact ! Men whispered of it on the 
steps of the Great Mosque when, the last Friday of the 
fast coming round, its commination service brought 
many from behind closed doors to realize that by such 
signs of kingship as beatings of drums, firing of salutes, 
and levying of loans, Bahadur Shah really had filched 
the throne of his ancestors from the finest fighters in the 
world. Filched it without a blow, without a struggle, 
without even a threat, a defiance. 

So here they were in a new world without posts or 
telegraphs, laws or order. Time itself turned back hun- 
dreds of years and all power of progress vested abso- 
lutely in one old man, the Light of Religion, the 
Defender of the Faith, the Great Moghul. If that were 
not a miracle it came too perilously near to one for some 
folk’s loyalty; and so they drifted palaceward when 
prayers were over to swell the growing crowd of cour- 
tiers about the Dream King. And even the learned and 
most loyal lingered on the steps to whisper, and call 
obscure prophecies and ingenious commentaries to 
mind, and admit that it was strange, wondrous strange, 
that the numerical values of the year should yield the 
anagram “ Ungrez tubbah shood ba hur soorut,” briefly 
“ The British shall be annihilated.” For the Oriental 
mind loves such trivialities. 

And, to all intents and purposes, the English were 
annihilated, during that short month of peace between 
the nth of May and the 8th of June, 1857; for Delhi 
knew nothing of the vain striving, the ceaseless efforts 
of the master to find tents and carriages, horses, ammu- 
nition, medicine, everything once more, save, thank 
Heaven! courage, and the determination to be master 
still. 

Even Soma admitted the miracle grudgingly; for he 


292 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


had SO far bolstered up his disloyalty by thoughts of a 
fair fight. He had not, after all, gone to Delhi direct, 
but had cut across country to his own village near Hansi, 
and had waited there, hoping to hear of a regular out- 
break of hostilities before definitely choosing his side; 
and he was still waiting when, after a fortnight, his 
greatest chum in the regiment had turned up from 
Meerut. For Davee Singh had been one of the many 
sepoys of the nth who had gone back to the colors after 
that one brief night of temptation was over. Soma had 
known this, and more than once as he waited, the 
knowledge had been as a magnet drawmg him back to 
the old pole of thought; for that his chum should be 
led to victory and he be among the defeated was probable 
enough to make Soma hate himself in anticipation. 

But here was Davee Singh, a deserter like he was, 
sulkily uncommunicative to the village gossips, but to 
his fellow admitting fiercely that the latter had been 
right. The Huzoors had forgotten how to fight. 
Meerut was quiet as the grave ; but there was no word of 
Delhi, and folk said — ^what did they not say? 

So these two, with a strange mixture of regret and re- 
lief in their hearts, set out for Delhi to see what was 
happening there; not knowing that many, of their fellows 
were drifting from it, weary like themselves of inaction. 

They had arrived there, two swaggering Rajpoots, in 
the midst of the thanksgivings and jollity of the Moham- 
medan Easter which followed on the last Friday of Fast; 
and they had fallen foul of it frankly. As frankly as the 
Mohammedans would have fallen foul of a Hindoo 
Saturnalia, or both Mohammedans and Hindoos would 
have fallen foul of the festivities in honor of the 
Queen’s Birthday which, on this 25th of May, 1857, were 
going on in every cantonment in India as if there was no 
such thing as mutiny in the world. So, annoyed with 
what they saw and heard, they joined themselves to 
other Rajpoot malcontents promptly. They sneered at 
the old pantaloon’s procession, which was in truth a poor 
one, though half the tailors in Delhi had been impressed 
to hurry up trappings and robes. Perhaps if Abool-Bukr 
had still been in charge of squibs and such like, it would 


PEACE! PEACE! 


293 


have been better; but he was not. The order he had 
given to let the Princess Farkhoonda’s dhoolie pass out, 
before the gates were closed on that day of the death- 
pledge, had been his last exercise of authority; for the 
next Court Journal contained the announcement that 
he was dismissed from his appointment. So he, hover- 
ing between the Thunbi Bazaar and the Mufti’s quarter, 
had nothing to do with the procession at which the 
Rajpoots sneered, criticising Mirza Moghul, the Com- 
mander-in-Chief’s seat on a horse, and talking boastfully 
of Vicra-maditya and Pertap as warlike Hindoos will. 
Until, about dusk, words came to blows amid a tinkling 
of anklets and a terrible smell of musk; for valor drifted 
as a matter of course to the wooden balconies of the 
Thunbi Bazaar during the month of miracle. So that 
the inmates^ coining money, called down blessings on 
the new regime. 

Soma, however, with a cut over one eye sorely in need 
of a stitch, swore loudly when he could find none to patch 
him up save a doddering old Hakeem, who proposed 
dosing him with paper pills inscribed with the name of 
Providence; an incredible remedy to one accustomed to 
all the appliances of hospitals and skilled surgery. 

“Yea! no doubt he is a fool,” assented the other se- 
poys in frank commiseration, “ yet he is the best you 
will get. For see you, brother, the doctors belong to 
the Huzoors; so many a brave man must expect to die 
needlessly, since those cursed dressers are not safe. 
There was one took the bottles and things and swore he 
could use them as well as any. And luck went with him 
until he gave five heroes who had been drunk the night 
before somewhat to clear their heads. By all the gods 
in India’s heaven they were clear even of life in half an 
hour. So we fell on the dresser and cleared him too. 
Yea! fool or no fool, paper pills are safer! ” 

Jim Douglas, who, profiting by the dusk and confu- 
sion, had lingered by the group after recognizing Soma’s 
voice, turned away with a savage chuckle; not that the 
tale amused him, but that he was glad to think six of the 
devils had gone to their account. For those long days 
of peace and enforced inaction had sunk him lower and 


294 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

lower into sheer animal hatred of those he dare not re- 
buke. He knew it himself, he felt that his very courage 
was becoming ferocity, and the thought that others, 
biding their time as he was, must be sinking into 
it also, filled him with fierce joy at the thought of 
future revenge. And yet, so far as he personally 
was concerned, those long days had passed quietly, 
securely, peacefully, and he could at any time 
climb out of all sight and sound of turmoil to a slip of 
sunlit roof where a woman waited for him with confidence 
and welcome in her eyes. With something obtrusively 
English also for his refreshment, since tragedy, even the 
fear of death, cannot claim a whole life, and Kate took to 
amusing herself once more by making her corner of the 
East as much like the West as she dare. That was not 
much, but Jim Douglas’ eye noted the indescribable 
difference which the position of a reed stool, the presence 
of a poor bunch of flowers, the little row of books in a 
niche, made in the familiar surroundings. For there 
were books and to spare in Delhi; for the price of a few 
pennies Jim Douglas might have brought her a cartload 
of such loot had he deemed it safe ; but he did not, and so 
the library consisted of grammars and vocabularies from 
which Kate learned with a rapidity which surprised and 
interested her teacher. In truth she had nothing else to 
do. Yet when he came, as he often did, to find her ab- 
sorbed in her work, her eyes dreamy with the puzzle of 
tense, he resented it inwardly, telling himself once more ' 
that women were trivial creatures, and life seemed 
trivial too, for in truth his nerves were all jangled and 
out of tune with the desire to get away from this strange 
shadow of a past idyll; to leave all womanhood behind 
and fall to fighting manfully. So that often as he sat 
beside her, patient outwardly, inwardly fretting to be 
gone even in the nightmare of the city, his eye would 
fall on the circlet of gold he had slipped, out of sheer 
arrogance and imperious temper, round that slender 
wrist, and feel that somehow he had fettered himself 
hopelessly when, more than a year past, he had given 
that promise. His chance and hers! Was this all? 
One woman's safety. And she, following his eyes to the 


JPEACE! PEACE/ 


^95 

bangle, would feel the thrill of its first touch once more, 
and think how strange it was that his chance and hers 
were so linked' together. But, being a woman, her heart 
would soften instinctively to the man who sat beside her, 
and whose face grew sterner and more haggard day by 
day; while hers? — she could see enough of it in the lit- 
tle looking-glass on her thumb to recognize that she was 
positively getting fat! She tried to amuse him by telling 
him so, by telling him many of the little humorous 
touches which come even into tragic life, and he was 
quite ready to smile at them. But only to please her. So 
day by day a silence grew between them as they sat on 
the inner roof, while Tara spun outside, or watched them 
furtively from some corner. And the flare of the sunset, 
unseen behind the parapeted wall, would lie on the swell- 
ing dome and spiked minarets of the mosque and make 
the paper kites, flown in this month of May by half the 
town, look like drifting jewels; fit canopy for the City of 
Dreams and for this strangest of dreams upon the 
housetop. 

“ Has — has anything gone wrong? ’’ she asked in des- 
peration one day, when he had sat moodily silent for a 
longer time than usual. “ I would rather you told me, 
Mr. Greyman.” 

He looked at her, vaguely surprised at the name; for 
he had almost forgotten it. Forgotten utterly that she 
could not know any other. And why should she? He 
had made the promise under that name; let them stick 
to it so long as Fate had linked their chances together. 

Nothing; not for us at least,'^ he said, and then a 
sudden remorse at his own unfriendliness came over him. 
“ There was another poor chap discovered to-day,” he 
added in a softer tone. “ I believe that you and I, Mrs. 
Erlton, must be the only two left now.” 

“ I dare say,” she echoed a little wearily, they — they 
killed him I suppose.” 

He nodded. “ I saw his body in the bazaar after- 
ward. I used to know him a bit — a clever sort ” 

“ Yes ” 

Mixed blood, of course, or he could not have passed 
muster so long as a greengrocer’s assistant” 


296 ON TNM face of the WATERS, 

“ Well — I would rather hear if you don’t mind.” 

His dark eyes met hers with a sudden eagerness, a 
sudden passion in them. 

“ What a little thing life is after all! He only said one 
word — only one. He was selling watermelons, and 
some brute tried to cheat him first, and then cheeked him. 
And he forgot a moment and said: ‘ Chup-raho,’ (be 
silent) — only that I — ‘ chup-raho' ! They were bragging 
of it — the devils. ‘ We knew he couldn’t be a coolie, they 
said, ‘ that is a master’s word.’ My God I What 
wouldn’t I give to say it sometimes! I could have 
shouted to them then, ‘ Chup-raho, you fools! you cow- 
ards ! ’ and some of them would have been silent 
enough ” 

He broke off hurriedly, clenching his hands like a vise 
on each other, as if to curb the tempest of words. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said after a pause, rising to 

walk away ; “ I — I lose control ” He paused again 

and shook his head silently. Kate followed him and laid 
her hand on his arm ; the loose gold fetter slipped to her 
wrist and touched him too. 

“ You think I don’t understand,” she said with a sud- 
den sob in her voice, “ but I do — you must go away — it 
isn’t worth it — no woman is worth it.” 

He turned on her sharply. “ Go? You know I can’t. 
What is the use of suggesting it? Mrs. Erlton! Tara 
is faithful; but she is faithful to me — only to me — you 
must see that surely ” 

“ If you mean that she loves you — worships the very 
ground you tread on,” interrupted Kate sharply, ‘‘ that 
is evident enough.” 

“Is that my fault?” he began angrily; “I hap- 
pened ” 

“ Thank you, I have no wish to hear the story.” 

The commonplace, second-rate, mock-dignified phrase 
came to her lips unsought, and she felt she could have 
cried in sheer vexation at having used it there; in the 
very face of Death as it were. But Jim Douglas laughed; 
laughed good-naturedly. 

“ I wonder how many years it is since I heard a woman 
say that? In another world surely,” he said with quite 


PEACE/ PEACE! 297 

a confidential tone. “ But the fact remains that Tara 
protects you as my wife, and if I were to go ” 

Kate looked at him with a quick resentment flaming 
up in her face beneath the stain. 

“ I think you are mistaken,.” she said slowly. I be- 
lieve Tara would be better pleased if — if she knew the 
truth.” 

“You mean if I were to tell her you are not my wife? ” 
he replied quickly. “ Why? ” 

“ Because I should be less of a tie to you — be- 
cause ” She paused, then added sharply, “ Mr. 

Greyman, I must ask you to tell her the truth, please. I 
have a right to so much, surely. I have my reasons for 
it, and if you do not, I shall.” 

Jim Douglas shrugged his shoulders. “ In that case 
I had better tell her myself; not that I think it matters 
much one way or another, so long as I am here. And 
the whole thing from beginning to end is chance, noth- 
ing but chance.” 

“ Your chance and mine,” she murmured half to her- 
self. It was the first time she had alluded openly to the 
strange linking of their fates, and he looked at her almost 
impatiently. 

“Yes! your chance and mine; and we must make the 
best of it. I’ll tell her as I go out.” 

But Tara interrupted him at the beginning. 

“ If the Huzoor means that he does not love the mem 
as he loved Zora, that requires no telling, and for the 
rest what does it matter to this slave? ” 

“ And it matters nothing to me either,” he retorted 
roughly, “ but of this be sure. Who kills the mem kills 
me, unless I kill first; and by Krishnu, and Vishnu, and 
the lot. I’d as lief kill you, Tara, as anyone else, if , you 
get in my way.” 

A great broad flash of white teeth lit up her face as she 
salaamed, remarking that the Huzoor’s mother must 
have been as Kunti. And Jim Douglas understanding 
the complimentary allusion to the God-visited mother of 
the Lunar race, wished as he went downstairs, that he 
was like the Five Heroes in one respect, at least, and that 
was in having only a fifth part of a woman to look after, 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


298 

instead of two whole ones who talked of love! So he 
passed out to listen, and watch, and wait, while the fire- 
balloons went up into the velvety sky, replacing the kites. 
For May is the month of marriages also, and night after 
night these false stars floated out from the Dream-City 
to form new constellations on the horizon for a few min- 
utes and then disappear with a flare into the darkness. 
Into the darkness whence the master did not come. Yet, 
as the month ended, villagers passing in with grain from 
Meerut averred that the masters were not all dead, or 
else God gave their ghosts a like power in cursing and 
smiting — which was all poor folk had to look for; since 
some had appeared and burned a village. 

Not all dead? The news drifted from market to mar- 
ket, but if it penetrated through the Palace gates it did 
, not filter through the new curtains and hangings of the 
private apartments where the King took perpetual cool- 
ing draughts and wrote perpetual appeals for more eti- 
quette and decorum. For nothing likely to disturb the 
unities of dreams was allowed within the precincts, where 
every day the old King sat on a mock peacock throne 
with a new cushion to it, and listened for hours to the 
high-flown letters of congratulation which poured in, 
each with its own little covering bag of brocade, from 
the neighboring chiefs. And if any day there happened 
to be a paucity of real ones, Hussan Askuri could supply 
them, like other dreams, at so much a dozen; since 
nothing more costly than the brocade bag came with 
them. So that the Mahboob’s face, as Treasurer, grew 
longer and longer over the dressmaker’s and upholster- 
er’s bills, and the Court Journal was driven into record- 
ing the fact that someone actually presented a bottle 
of Pandamus odoratissimus, whatever that may be. Some 
subtle essence, mayhap, favorable to dreaminess; since, 
in the month of peace, drugs were necessary to prevent 
awakening. 

Especially when, on the 30th of May, a sound came 
over the distant horizon ; the sound of artillery. 

At last! At last! Jim Douglas, who, in sheer dread 
of his own growing despair, had taken to spending all 
the time he dared in moody silence on that peaceful roof, 


PEACE! PEACE! 


299 


started as if he had been shot, and was down the stairs 
seeking news. The streets were full of a silent, restless 
crowd, almost empty of soldiers. They had gone out 
during the night, he learned, Meerutward; tidings of 
an army on the banks of the Hindu river, seven or eight 
miles out, having been brought in by scouts. 

At last! At last! He wandered through the bazaars 
scarcely able to think, wondering only when the army 
could possibly arrive, feeling a mad joy in the anxious 
faces around him, lingering by the groups of men col- 
lected in every open space simply for the satisfaction of 
hearing the wonder and alarm in the words: “So the 
master lives.” 

He lived indeed! Listen! .That was his voice over 
the eastern horizon! Kate, when he came back to the 
roof about noon, had never seen him in this mood before, 
and wondered at his fire, his gayety, his youth. But the 
recognition brought a dull pain with it, in the thought 
that this was natural to the man; that gloomy moodiness 
the result of her presence. 

“ You are not afraid, surely? ” he said suddenly, break- 
ing off in the recital of some future event which seemed 
to him certain. ■ 

“ No. I am only glad,” she replied slowly. “ It could 
not have lasted much longer. It is a great relief.” 

“ Relief,” he echoed, “ I wonder if you know the relief 
it is to me?” And then he looked at her remorsefully. 

“ I have been an awful brute, Mrs. Erlton, but women 
can scarcely understand what inaction means to a man.” 

Could they not? she wondered bitterly as he hastened' 
off again, leaving her to long weary hours of waiting; 
till the red flush of sunset on the bubble dome of the 
mosque brought him back with a new look on his face; 
a look of angry doubt. 

“The sepoys are coming in again,” he said; “they 
claim a victory — but that, of course, is impossible. Still 
I don’t understand, and it is so difficult to get any reliable 
information.” 

“ You should go out yourself — I believe it would be 
best for us both,” replied Kate, “ Tara ” 

He shook his head impatiently. “ Not now. What 


300 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERB. 


is the use of risking all at the last. We can only have 
to wait till to-morrow. But I don’t understand it, all the 
same. The sepoys say they surprised the camp — that 
the buglers were still calling to arms when their artillery 
opened fire. But so far as I can make out they have lost 
five guns, and from the amount of bhang they are drink- 
ing, I believe it was a rout. However, if you don’t mind. 
I’ll be off again — and — and don’t be alarmed if I stay 
out.” 

“ I’m not in the least alarmed,” she replied. “ As I 
have told you before, I don’t think it is necessary you 
should come here at all.” 

He paused at the door to glance back at her half- 
resentfully. To be sure she did not know that he had 
slept on its threshold as a rule; but anyhow, after eating 
your heart out over one woman’s safety for three weeks, 
it was hard to be told that you were not wanted. But, 
thank Heaven! the end was at hand. And yet as he 
lingered round the watch-fires he heard nothing but 
boasting, and in more than one of the mosques thanks- 
givings were being offered up; while outside the walls 
volunteers to complete the task so well begun were 
assembling to go forth with the dawn and kill the few 
remaining infidels. Some drunk with bhang, more in- 
toxicated by the lust of blood which comes to fighting 
races like the Rajpoot with the first blow. It had come 
to Soma, as, with fierce face seamed with tears, he told 
the tale again and again of his chum’s gallant death. 
How Davee Singh, brother in arms, his boyhood’s play- 
mate, seeing some cowards of artillerymen abandoning 
a tumbril full of ammunition to the cursed Mlechcha’s, 
had leaped to it like a black-buck, and with a cry to 
Kali, Mother of Death, had fired his musket into it; 
so sending a dozen or more of the hell-doomed to their 
place, and one more brave Rajpoot to Swarga. 

“ Jai! Jai! Kali md ki jai! ” 

An echo of the dead man’s last cry came from many 
a living one, as muskets were gripped tighter in the re- 
solve to be no whit behind. A few more such heroes and 
the Golden Age would come again; the age of the blessed 
Pandava, who forgot the cause in the quarrel. 


PEACE! PEACE! 


301 


And so for one day more Jim Douglas strained his 
ears for that distant thunder on the horizon, while the 
people of the town, becoming more accustomed to it, 
went about their business, vaguely relieved at anything 
which should keep the sepoys’ hands from mischief. 

The red sunset glow was on the mosque again when 
he returned to the little slip of roof to find Kate working 
away at her grammars calmly. The best thing she could 
do, since every word she learned was an additional safe- 
guard; and yet the man could not help a scornful smile. 

“ It is a rout this time, I am sure,” he said; “and yet 
there is no sign of pursuit. I cannot understand it; 
there seems a Fate about it! ” 

“Is that anything new?” she asked wearily, as she 
laid down her book, and with the certain precision which 
marked all her actions, saw that the water was really 
boiling before she made the tea. It was made in a lota, 
and drunk out of handleless basins, yet for all that it was 
Western-made tea, strong and unspiced, with cream to 
put to it also, which she skimmed from a dish set in cold 
water in the coolest, darkest place she could find. 
Dreamlike indeed, and Jim Douglas, drinking his tea, 
felt, that with his eyes shut, he might have dreamed him- 
self in an English drawing room. 

“ Nothing new,” he retorted, “ but it seems incompre- 
hensible. Hark! That is a salute; for the victory, I 
suppose. Upon my soul I feel as if — as if I were a dream 
myself — as if I should go mad! Don’t look startled — 
I shan’t. The whole thing is a sham — I can see that. 
But why has no one the pluck to give the House-of- 
Cards a push and bring it about their ears? And what 
has become of the army at the Hindun? It took three 
days to march there from Meerut, I hear — not more than 
twenty-four miles. No! I cannot understand it. No 
wonder the people say we are all dead. I begin to be- 
lieve it myself.” 

He heard the saying often enough certainly to bring 
relief during the ist and 2d of June, when there was no 
more distant thunder on the horizon, and the whole town, 
steeped and saturated with sunshine, lay half-asleep, the 
soldiers drowsing off the effect of their drugs. 


30^ ON- THE FACE OE THE tVATEES, 

Dead? Yea! the masters were dead, and those who 
had escaped were in full retreat up the river; so at least 
said villagers coming in with supplies. But someone 
else who had come in with supplies also, sat crouched 
up like a grasshopper on a great pile of wool-betasseled 
sacks in the corn market and laughed creakily. “ Dead! 
not they. As the tanda passed Karnal four days agone 
the camping ground was white as a poppy field with 
tents, and the soldiers like the flies buzzing round them. 
And if folk want to hear more, I, Tiddu Baharupa-Bun- 
jarah, can tell tales beyond the Cashmere gate on the 
river island where the bullocks graze.” 

The creaking voice rose unnecessarily loud, and a man 
in the dress of an Afghan who had been listening, his 
back to the speaker, moved off with a surprised smile. 
Tiddu had proved his vaunted superiority in that in- 
stance ; though by what arts he had penetrated the back 
of a disguise, Jim Douglas could not imagine. Still 
here was news indeed — news which explained some of 
the mystery, since the seeming retreat up the river had 
been, no doubt, for the purpose of joining forces. But 
it was something almost better than news — it was a 
chance of giving them. He had not dared, for Kate’s 
sake, to risk any confederate as yet; but here was one 
ready to hand — a confederate, too, who would do any- 
thing for money. 

So that night he sat in tamarisk shadow on the river 
island talking in whispers, while the monotonous clank 
of the bells hung on the wandering bullocks sounded fit- 
fully, the flicker of the watchfires gleamed here and there 
on the half-dried pools of water, the fireflies flashed 
among the bushes, and every now and again a rough, 
rude chant rose on the still air. 

“ They have been there these ten days, Huzoor,” came 
Tiddu’s indifferent voice. “ They are waiting for the 
siege train. Nigh on three thousand of them, and some 
black faces besides.” 

Jim Douglas gave an exclamation of sheer despair. 
To him, living in the Hbuse-of-Cards, the Palace-of- 
Dreams, such caution seemed unnecessary. Still, the 
past being irretrievable, the present remained in which 


PEACE! PEACE! 


303 


by hook or by crook to get the letter he had with him, 
ready written, conveyed to the army at Karnal. And 
Tiddu, with fifty rupees stowed away in his waistband, 
being lavish of promise and confidence, there was no 
more to be done save creep back to the city, feeling as if 
the luck had turned at last. 

But the next morning he found the Thunbi Bazaar in 
a turmoil of talk. There were spies in the city. A letter 
had been found, written in the Persian character, it is true 
but with the devilish knowledge of the West in its details 
of likely spots for attack, the indecision of certain quar- 
ters in the city,Tts general unpreparedness for anything 
like resistance. Who had written it? As the day went 
on the camps were in uproar, the Palace invaded, the 
dream disturbed by denouncings of Ashan-Oolah, the 
giver of composing draughts — Mahboob Ali, the checker 
of the purse strings; even of Mirza Moghul, commander- 
in-chief himself, who might well be eager to buy his 
recognition as heir by treachery. 

The net result of the letter being that, as Jim Douglas, 
with wrath in his heart, crept out at dusk to the low 
levels by the Water Bastion, intent on having it out with 
Tiddu, he could see gangs of sepoys still at work by 
torchlight strengthening the bridge defense, and had to 
dodge a measuring party of artillerymen busy range- 
finding. His suggestions had been of use! 

But the old Bunjarah took his fierce reproaches philo- 
sophically. “ ’Tis the miscreant Bhungi,” he assented 
mournfully. “ He is not to be trusted, but Jhungi hav- 
ing a tertian ague, I deemed a surer foot advisable.' 
Yet the Huzoor need not be afraid. Even the miscreant 
would not betray his person; and for the rest, the 
Presence writes Persian like any court moonshee.'’ 

The calm assumption that personal fear was at the 
bottom of his reproaches, made Jim Douglas desire to 
throttle the old man, and only the certainty that he dare 
not risk a row prevented him from going for the ill- 
gotten rupees at any rate. His thought, however, 
seemed read by the old rascal, for a lean protesting hand, 
holding a bag, flourished out of the darkness, and the 
creaking voice said magnificently: 


304 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ Before Murri-am and the sacred neem, Huzoor, I 
have kept my bargain. As for Jhungi or Bhungi, did 
I make them that I should know the evil in them? But 
if the Huzoor suspects one who holds his tongue, let the 
bargain between us end.” 

His hearer could not repress a smile at the consum- 
mate cunning of the speech. “ You can keep the money 
for the next job,” he said briefly; “ I haven’t done with 
you yet, you scoundrel.” 

A grim chuckle came out of the shadows as the hand 
went back into them. 

“ The Huzoor need not fret himself, whatever happens. 
The end is nigh.” 

It seemed as if. it must be with three thousand British 
soldiers within sixty miles of Delhi; or less, since they 
might have marched during those five days. They 
might be at Delhi any moment. Three thousand men! 
Enough and to spare even though in the last few days a 
detachment or two of fresh mutineers had arrived. Ah! 
if the blow had been struck sooner. If — if 

Kate listened during those first days of June to many 
such wishes, despairs, hopes, from one whose only solace 
lay in words; since with relief staring him in the face, 
Jim Douglas crushed down his craving for action. 
There was no real need for it, he told her ; it must involve 
risk, so they must wait — sleep and dream like the city! 

For, lulled by the delay, stimulated to fresh fancy by 
the newcomers, the townspeople went on their daily 
round monotonously; the sepoys boasted and drank 
bhang. And in the Palace, the King, in new robes of 
state sat on his new cushion and put the sign-manual 
to such trifles as a concession to a home-born slave that 
he might continue, as heretofore, a-tinning the royal 
sauce-pans ! ” though Mahboob Ali’s face lemgthened as 
he doled out something on account for faith and finery, 
and suggested that the army might at least be employed 
in collecting revenue somewhere. But the army grinned 
in the commander-in-chief’s face, scorned laborious 
days, and between the seductions of the Thunbi Bazaar 
gave peaceful citizens what one petitioner against plun- 
der calls “ a foretaste of the Day of Judgment,” 


PEACE/ PEACE! 


3^5 


But one soul in Delhi felt in every fiber of him that 
the Judgment had come — that atonement must be made. 

“ Thou wilt kill thyself with prayers and fastings and 
seekings of other folks’ salvations, Moulvie-sahib,” said 
Hafzan almost petulantly as, passing on her rounds, she 
saw Mohammed Ismail’s anxious face, seeking audience 
with everyone in authority, “ Thou hast done thy best. 
The rest is with God; and if these find death also, the 
blame will lie elsewhere.” 

“ But the blame of those, woman? ” he asked fiercely, 
pointing with trembling finger to the little cistern shaded 
by the peepul tree. 

Hafzan gave a shrill laugh as she passed on. 

“Fear not that either, learned one! This world’s 
atonement for that will be sufficient for future pardon.” 

It might be so, Mohammed Ismail told himself as he 
hurried off feverishly to another appeal. He had erred 
in ignorance there; but what of the forty prisoners 
still at the Kotwali — forty stubborn Christians despite 
their dark skins? They were safe so far, but if the city 
were assaulted? — if some of the fresh, fiery-faithed new- 
comers The doubt left him no peace. 

“ If thou wilt swear, Moulvie-jee, on thine own eternal 
salvation that they are Mohammedans, or stake thy soul 
on their conversion,” jeered those who held the keys. A 
heavy stake, that! A solemn oath with forty stubborn 
Christians to deal with. No wonder Mohammed Ismail 
felt judgment upon him already. 

But the stake was staked, the oath spoken on the 6th 
of June. The record of it is brief, but it stands as his-*^ 
tory in the evidence of one of the forty. “We were 
released in consequence of a Moulvie of the name of 
Mohammed Ismail giving evidence that we were all 
Mohammedan; or that if any were Christian they would 
become Mohammedan.” 

And it was given none too soon. For on the 6th of 
June as the sun set, a silhouette of a man on a horse 
stood clear against the red-gold in the west, looking 
down from the Ridge on Delhi. Looking down on the 
city bathed in the dreamy glamour of the slanting sun- 
beams; rose-red and violet-shadowed, with the great 


3o6 on the face of THE WATERS. 

white dome hovering above the smoke wreaths, and a 
glitter of gold on the eastern wall, where, backed by that 
arcaded view of the darkening Eastern plains, an old 
man sat listening to sentiments of fidelity from a pile of 
little brocaded bags. 

It was Hodson of Hodson’s Horse, reconnoitering 
ahead. So there was an Englishman on the Ridge once 
more as the paper kites came down on the 6th of June. 
But the fire balloons did not go up; for the night set in 
gusty and wet, giving no chance to new constellations. 

Jim Douglas did not sleep at all that night, for Tiddu 
had brought word that the English were at Alipore, ten 
miles out; and nothing but the dread of needless risk 
kept him in Delhi. For any risk was needless when to 
a certainty the English flag would be flying over the city 
in a few hours. 

And Hodson of Hodson!s Horse back at Alipore slept 
late, for he lingered, weary and wet after his long ride, 
to write to his wife ere turning in, that “ if he had had a 
hundred of the Guides he could have gone right up to 
the city wall.” 

But Mohammed Ismail slept peacefully, his work 
being over, and dreamed of Paradise. 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE CHALLENGE. 

'' For Gawd’s sake, sir! don’t say I’m unfit for dooty, 
sir,” pleaded a lad, who, as he stood to attention, tried 
hard to keep the sharp shivers of coming ague from the 
doctor’s keen eyes. “ I’m all right, aint I, mates? It 
aint a bad sort o’ fever at worst, as I oughter know, 
havin’ it constant. It’s go ter hell, an’ lick the blood up 
fust as I’m fit for with Jack Pandy. That’s all the 
matter — you see if it aint, sir! ” 

He threw his fair curly head back, his blue eyes 
blazed with the coming fever light, but the bearded 
man next to him murmured, “ ’Ee’s all right, sir, ’Ee’ll 


THE CHALLENGE. 3<^7 

’old ’is musket straight, never fear,” and the Doctor 
walked on with a nod. 

“ They killed his girl at Meerut,” said his company 
officer in a whisper, and Herbert Erlton, standing by, set 
his teeth and glanced back, blue eye meeting blue eye 
with a sort of triumph. 

For it was the yth of June, and the blow was to be 
struck, the challenge given at last. 

Nearly a month, thought Herbert Erlton, since it had 
happened. He had spent much of the time in bed, struck 
down with fever; for he had regained Meerut with 
difficulty, wounded and exhausted. And then it had 
been too late — too late for anything save to hang round 
hungrily in the hopes of that challenge to come, with 
many another such as he. 

But it had come at last. The camp was ringing with 
cheers for the final reinforcement, every soul who could 
stand was coming out of hospital, and the air, new 
washed with rain, and cool, seemed to put fresh life, and 
with it a desire to kill, into the veins of every son of the 
cold North. 

And now the dusk was at hand. The men, half-mad 
with impatience, laughed and joked over each trivial 
preparation. Yet, when the order came with midnight, 
weapons were never gripped more firmly, more sternly, 
than by those three thousand Englishmen marching to 
their long-deferred chance of revenge. And some, not 
able to march, toiled behind in hopes of one fair blow; 
and not a few, unable even for so much, slipped desper- 
ately from hospital beds to see at least one murderer 
meet with his reward. 

For, to the three thousand marching upon Delhi that 
cool dewy night, sent — so they told themselves — for 
special solace and succor of the Right, there were but 
two things to be reckoned with in the wide world: 
Themselves — Men. Those others — Murderers. 

The fireflies, myriad-born from the rain, glimmered 
giddily in the low marshy land, the steady stars shone 
overhead, and Major Erlton looked at both indifferently 
as he rode, long-limbed and heavy, through the night 
whose soft silence was broken only by the jingle of spurs 


3oa ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

and the squelching of light gun-wheels in water-logged 
ruts; save when — from a distance — the familiar tramp, 
tramp, of disciplined feet along a road came wafted on the 
cool wind; for the column in which he was doing duty 
moved along the canal bank so as to take the enemy, who 
held an intrenched position five miles from Alipore, in 
flank. But Herbert Erlton was not thinking of stars or 
fireflies; was not thinking of anything. He was watching 
for other lights, the twinkling cresset lights which would 
tell where the Murderers waited for that first blow. He 
did not even think of the cause of his desire; he was 
absorbed in the revenge itself, and a bitter curse rose to 
his lips, when just before dawn the roll of a gun and the 
startled flocks of birds flying westward told him that 
others were before him. 

“ Hurry up, men! For God’s sake hurry up! ” The 
entreaty passed along the line where the troopers of the 
9th Lancers were setting shoulders to the gun-wheels, 
and everyone, men and officers alike, was listening with 
fierce regret to the continuous roll of cannon, the casual 
rattle of musketry, telling that the heavy guns were bear- 
ing the brunt of it so far. 

“ Hurry up, men ! Hurry up. That’s the bridge 
ahead! Then we can go for them! ” 

Hark! A silence; if silence it could be called, now 
that the shouts, and yells, and confused murmur of battle 
could be heard. But the guns were silent; and hark 
again. A ringing cheer! Bayonet work that, at last, 
at last! And yonder, behind the fireflies in the bushes? 
Surely men in flight! Hurrah! Hurrah! 

When Major Erlton returned from that wild charge 
it was to find that one splendid rush from the 75th Regi- 
ment had cleared the road to Delhi. The Murderers 
had been swept from their shelter, their guns — some 
fighting desperately, others standing stupidly to meet 
death, and many with clasped hands and vain protesta- 
tions of loyalty on their lips paying the debt of their race. 
But one man had paid some other debt. Heaven knows 
what; and the Rifle Brigade cleared the road to Delhi of 
an English deserter fighting against his old regiment. 

It had not taken an hour; and now, as the yellow sun 


THE CHALLENGE. 309 

peered over the eastern horizon, a little knot of staff 
officers consulted what to do next. 

What to do? Herbert Erlton and many another won- 
dered stupidly what the deuce fellows could mean by 
asking the question when the jagged line of the Ridge 
lay not three miles off, and Delhi lay behind that? 
Could any sane person think that England had done 
its duty at sunrise, even though forty good men and true 
of the three thousand had dealt their first and last blow? 

But if some did, there were not* many; so, after a 
pause, the march began again. Westward, by a forking 
road, to the flat head of the Lizard lying above the 
Subz-mundi, eastward toward the tail and the old canton- 
ment. And this time the bayonets went with the jing- 
ling spurs, and together they cleared the green groves 
merrily. Still, even so, it was barely nine o’clock when 
they met the eastward column again at Hindoo Rao’s 
house and shook hands over their bloodless victory. 
For the eastward force had lost one man, the westward 
seven, despite the fact that the retreating Murderers had 
attempted a rally in their old lines. 

Nine o’clock! In seven hours the ten miles had been 
marched, the battle of Badli-ke-serai won, and below 
them lay Delhi. Within twelve hundred yards rose the 
Moree Bastion, the extreme western point of that city 
face which, with the Cashmere gate jutting about its 
middle and the Water Bastion guarding its eastern end, 
must be the natural target of their valor — a target three- 
quarters of a mile long by twenty-four feet high. 

Seven hours! And the Murderers had been driven 
into the city, while the men had gained twenty-six 
guns and the finest possible base for the conduct of 
future operations.” For the Ridge, the old canton- 
ments were once more echoing to the master’s step, and 
the city folk, as they looked eagerly from the walls, had 
the first notice of defeat in the smoke and flames of the 
sepoy lines which the English soldiers fired in reckless 
revenge; reckless because the tents were not up, and 
they might at least have been a shelter from the sun. 

But the Delhi force, taken as a whole, was in no mood 
to think; and so perhaps those at the head of it felt bound 


310 ON THE FACE OF TttE WATERS. 

to think the more. There was Delhi, undoubtedly, but 
the rose-red walls with their violet shadows looked for- 
midable. And who could tell how many Murderers it 
harbored? A thousand of them or thereabouts would 
return to Delhi no more; but, even so, if all the regi- 
ments known to have mutinied and come to Delhi were 
at their full strength, the odds must still be close on four 
to one. And then there was the rabble, armed no doubt 
from the larger magazine below the Flagstaff Tower, 
which, alas, had found no Willoughby for its destruction 
on the nth of May. And then there was the May sun. 
And then — and then 

'‘What’s up? When are we going on?” asked 
Major Erlton, sitting fair and square on his horse, in the 
shadow the big trees by Hindoo Rao’s house, as an 
orderly officer rode past him. 

“ Aren’t going on to-day. Chief thinks it safer not — 
these native cities ” 

He was gone, and Herbert Erlton without a word 
threw himself heavily from his horse with a clatter and 
jingle of swords and scabbards and Heaven knows what 
of all the panoply of war; so with the bridle over his arm 
stood looking out over the -bloody city which lay quiet 
as the grave. Only, every now and again, a white puff 
of smoke followed by a dull roar came from a bastion 
like a salute of welcome to the living, or a parting honor 
to the dead. 

Was it possible? His eyes followed the familiar out- 
line mechanically till they rested half-unconsciously on 
some ruins beside the city wall. Then with a rush mem- 
ory came back to him, and as he turned hurriedly to 
loosen his horse’s girths, the tears seemed to scald his 
tired angry eyes. Yet it was not the memory of Alice 
Gissing only, which sent these unwonted visitors to Her- 
bert Erlton’s eyes; it was a wild desperate pity and de- 
spair for all women. 

And as he stood there ignoring his own emotion, or 
at least hiding it, one of the women whom he pitied was 
looking up with a certain resentful eagerness at a man, 
who, from the corner turret of that roof in the Mufti’s 
quarter, was straining his eyes Ridgeways. 


THE CHALLENGE, 


3 ” 


They must rest, surely,” she said sharply; you can- 
not expect them to be made of iron as you are, 

she was about to add, but withheld even that suspicion 
of praise. 

“Well! There goes the bugle to pitch tents, any- 
how,” retorted Jim Douglas recklessly. “ So I suppose 
we had better have our breakfast too — coffee and a rasher 
of bacon and a boiled egg or so. By God! its incredi- 
ble — it’s ” He flung himself on a reed stool and 

covered his face with his hands for a second; but he was 
up facing her the next. “ I’ve no right to say these 
things — no one knows better than I how worse than idle 
it is to press others to one’s own tether — I learned that 
lesson early, Mrs. Erlton. But ” — he gave a quick 
gesture of impotent impatience — “ when the news first 
came in, the men who brought it ran in at the Cashmere 
and Moree gates in hundreds, and out at the Ajmere 
and Turkoman, calling that the masters had come 
back; and people were keeking round the doors hope- 
fully. I tell you the very boys as I came in here were 
talking of school again — of holiday tasks, perhaps — 
Heaven knows! People were running in the streets — 
they will be walking now — in another hour they will be 
standing; and then! Well! I suppose the General 
funks the sun. So I’ll be off. I only came because I 
thought I had better be here in case; you see the men 
would have had their blood up rushing the city ” 

“And your breakfast?” she asked coldly, almost 
sarcastically; for he seemed to her so hard, so grudging, 
while her sympathies, her enthusiasms were red-hot for 
the newcomers. 

He laughed bitterly. “ I’ve learned to live on parched 
grain like a native, if need be, and I take opium too; so 
I shall manage.” He was back again to the turret, how- 
ever, before two o’clock, curtly apologetic, calmer, yet 
still eager. The people, to be sure, he said, had given 
up keeking round their doors at every clatter, and the 
gates had been closed on deserters by the Palace folk; 
but no one had thought of bricking them up, and after 
going round everywhere he doubted if there were more 
than seven or eight thousand real soldiers in Delhi. The 


312 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


74th and the nth regiments had been slipping away for 
days, and numbers of men who had remained did not 
really mean to fight. Tiddu, who seemed to know eve^- 
thing, said that the mutineers had been very strongly in- 
trenched at Budli-serai, so the resistance could not have 
been very dogged, or our troops could not have fought 
their way in before nine o’clock. Yes! since she 
pressed for an answer, the General might have been wise 
in waiting for the cool. Only he personally wished he 
had thought it possible, for then he would at any rate 
have tried to get a letter sent to the Ridge. Now it was 
too late. 

And then suddenly, as he spoke, a fierce elation 
flashed to his face again at the sound of bugles, the roll 
of a gun from the Moree Bastion; and he was up the 
stairs of the turret in a second, casting a half-humorous, 
wholly deprecating glance back at her. 

“ A hare and a tortoise once — I learned that at school 
— put it into Latin I ” he said lightly, as the walls round 
them quivered to the reverberating rolls, thundering 
from the city wall. 

Kate walked up and down the roof restlessly, passing 
into the outer one so as to be further from that eager 
sentinel and his criticisms. Tara was spinning calmly, 
and Kate wondered if the woman could be alive. Did 
she not know that brave men on both sides were going 
to their deaths? And Tara, from under her heavy eye- 
lashes, watched Kate, and wondered how any woman 
who had brought Life into the world could fear Death. 
Did not the Great Wheel spin unceasingly? Let brave 
men, then, die bravely — even Soma. For she knew by 
this time that her brother was in Delhi, and by the mas- 
ter’s orders had dodged his detection more than once. 
So the two women waited, each after their nature ; while 
like the pulse of time itself, the beat of artillery shook 
the walls. It came so regularly that Kate, crouching in 
a corner weary of restless pacing to and fro, grew almost 
drowsy and started at a step beside her. 

“A false alarm,” said Jim Douglas quietly; “a sortie, 
as far as I could judge, from the Moree; easily driven 
back,” 


THE CHALLENGE. 


313 


His tone roused her antagonism instantly. Perhaps 
they are waiting for night.” 

“ There is a full moon — almost,” he replied; “ besides, 
there is fair cover up to within four hundred yards of the 
Cabul gate. They could rush that, and a bag or two of 
gunpowder would finish the business.” 

“ They could do that as well to-morrow,” she re- 
marked hotly. 

“ I hope to God they worft be such fools as to try it! ” 
he replied as hotly. “ If they don’t come in to-night 
they will have to batter down the walls, and then the 
city will go against them. What city wouldn’t? It will 
rouse memories we can’t afford to rouse. Who could? 
And every wounded man who creeps in to-day will be a 
center of resistance by to-morrow. The women will 
hound others on to protect him. It is their way. You 
have always to allow for humanity in war. Well! we 
must wait and see.” He paused and rubbed his fore- 
head vexedly. “ If I had known, I might have got out 

with the sortie; but I suppose I couldn’t really ” 

He paused, shrugged his shoulders, and went out. 

And Kate, as she sat watching the red flush of sun- 
set grow to the dome, remembered his look at her with 
a half-angry pang. Why should she be in this man’s 
way always? So the day died away in soft silence, and 
there on the housetop it seemed incredible that so much 
hung in the balance, and that down in the streets the 
crowds must be drifting to and fro restlessly. At least 
she supposed so. Yet, monotonous as ever, there was 
the evening cry of the muezzin and the persistent thrum- 
ming of toms-toms and saringis which evening brings 
to a native city. It rose louder than usual from a roof 
hard by, where, so Tara told her, a princess of the blood 
royal lived; a great friend of Abool-Bukr’s. The re- 
membrance of little Sonny’s hands all red with blood, 
and the cruel face smiling over an apology, made her 
shiver, and wonder as she often did with a desperate 
craving what the child’s fate had been. Why had she 
let the old ayah take him? Why was he not here, safe; 
making life bearable? As she sat, the tears falling 
quietly over her cheeks, Tara came and looked at her 


314 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

curiously. “ The mem should not cry,” she said con- 
solingly. “ The Huzoor will save her somehow.” 

For an instant Kate felt as if she would rather he did 
not. Then on the distance and the darkening air came 
a familiar sound: the evening bugle from the Ridge 
with its cheerful invitation: 

“ Come - and - set- a- picket-boys! come - and - keep - 
a -watch.” 

So someone else was within hail, ready to help! The 
knowledge brought her a vast consolation, and for 
the first time in that environment she slept through 
the night without wakening in deadly dreamy fear at the 
least sound. 

Even the uproarious devilry of Prince Abool in the 
alley below did not rouse her, when about midnight he 
broke loose from the feverish detaining hold which 
Newasi had kept on him by every art of her power during 
the day, lest the master returning should find the Prince 
in mischief. But now he lurched away with a party of 
young bloods who had come to fetch him, swearing that 
he must celebrate the victory properly. But for a mo- 
ment’s weakness, fostered by a foolish, fearful woman, 
he might have led the cavalry. He wept maudlin tears 
over the thought, swearing he would yet show his mettle. 
He would not leave one hell-doomed alive; and, suit- 
ing the action to the word, he began incontinently to 
search for fugitives in some open cowyards close by, till 
the strapping dairymaids, roused from slumber, declared 
in revenge that they had seen a man slip down the culvert 
of the big drain. Five minutes afterward Prince Abool, 
half-choked, half-drowned, was dragged from the sewer 
by his comrades, protesting feebly that he must have 
killed an infidel; else why did the blood smell so hor- 
Vibly? 

But after that the city sank into the soundlessness, the 
stillness, of the hour before dawn, save for a recurring 
call of the watch bugles on wall and Ridge and the 
twinkling lights which burned all night in camp and 
court. For those two had challenged each other, and 
the fight was to the bitter end. What else could it be 


THE CHALLENGE. 


315 

with a death-pledge between them? The townspeople 
might sleep uncertain which side they would espouse, but 
between the Men and the Murderers the issue was clear. 

And it remained so, even though the month-of-miracle 
lingered, and no assault came on the morrow, or the day 
after, or the day after that. So that the old King himself 
set his back to the wall and for once spoke as a King 
should. “ If the army will not fight without pay, punish 
it,” he said to the Commander-in-chief. But it was only 
a flash in the pan, and he retired once more to the lat- 
ticed marble balcony and set the sign-manual to a 
general fiat that “ those who would be satisfied with a 
trifle might be paid something.” Whereat Mahboob Ali' 
shook his head, for there was not even a trifle in the 
privy purse. 

As for the city people, their ears and tongues grew 
longer during those three days, when the sepoys, return- 
ing from the sorties and skirmishes, brought back tales 
of glorious victory, stupendous slaughter. Her man 
had killed fifteen Huzoors himself, and there were not 
five hundred left on the Ridge, said Futteh-deen’s wife 
to Pera-Khan’s as they gossiped at the wall; and a good 
job too. When they were gone there would be an end 
of these sword cuts and bullet wounds. Not a wink of 
sleep had she had for nights, yawned Zainub, what with 
thirsts and poultices! And on the steps of the mosque, 
too, the learned lingered to discuss the newspapers. So 
Bukht Khan with fifty thousand men was on his way 
to swear allegiance, and the Shah of Persia had sacked 
Lahore, where Jan Lrance himself had been caught try- 
ing to escape on an elephant and identified by wounds 
on his back. And the London correspondent of the 
Authentic News was no doubt right in saying the Queen 
was dumfoundered, while the St. Petersburg one was 
clearly correct in asserting that the Czar was about to 
put on his crown at last. Why not, since his vow 
was at an end with the passing of India from British 
supremacy? 

So the dream went on; the little brocaded bags kept 
coming in; the stupendous slaughter continued. Yet 


$i6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

every night the Widow’s Cruse of a Ridge echoed to the 
picket bugles, and the court and the camp twinkled at 
each other till dawn. 

A sort of vexed despairing patience came to Jim 
Douglas, and more than once he apologized to Kate for 
his moodiness, like a patient who apologizes to his nurse 
when unfavorable symptoms set in. He gave her what 
news he could glean, which was not much, for Tiddu had 
gone south for another consignment of grain. But on 
the morning of the 12th he turned up with a face clearer 
than it had been, and a friendlier look in his eyes. 

“ The guides came in to camp yesterday. Splendid 
fellows. They were at it hammer and tongs immedi- 
ately, though that man Rujjub Ali I told you of — it was 
he who said Hodson was with the force — declares they 
marched from Murdan in twenty-one days. Over thirty 
miles a day! Well! they looked like it. I saw them 
ride slap up to the Cabul gate. And — and I saw some- 
one else with them, Mrs. Erlton. I wasn’t sure at first 
if I had better tell you; but I think I had. I saw your 
husband.” 

“ My husband,” she echoed faintly. In truth the past 
seemed to have slipped from her. She seemed to have 
forgotten so much; and then suddenly she remembered 
that the letter he had written must still be in the pocket 
of the dress Tara had hidden away. How strange! She 
must find it, and look at it again. 

Jim Douglas watched her curiously with a quick 
recognition of his own rough touch. Yet it could not 
be helped. 

“ Yes. He was looking splendid, doing splendidly. 

I couldn’t help wishing Well! I wish you could 

have seen him; you would have been proud.” 

She interrupted him with swift, appealing hand. 
“ Oh! — don’t — please don’t — what have I to do with it? 
Can’t you see — can’t you understand he was thinking 
of — of her — and doesn’t she deserve it? while I — I ” 

It was the first breakdown he had seen during those 
long weeks of strain, and he stood absolutely, wholly 
compassionate before it. 

“ My dear lady,” he said gently, as he walked away to 


THE CHALLENGE. 


317 


give her time, '' if you good women would only recog- 
nize the fact which worse ones do, that most men think 
of many women in their lives, you would be happier. 
But I doubt if Major Erlton was thinking of anyone in 
particular. He was thinking of the dead, and you are 
among them, for him; remember that. Come,’’ he 
continued, crossing over to her again and holding out 
his hand. “ Cheer up! Aren’t you always telling me it 
is bad for a man to have one woman on the brain, and 
think, think how many there may be to avenge by this 
time!” 

His voice, sounding a whole gamut of emotion, a 
whole cadence of consolation, seemed to find an echo in 
her heart, and she looked up at him gratefully. 

It would have found one also in most hearts upon the 
Ridge, where men were beginning to think with a sort 
of mad fury of women and children in a hundred places 
to which this unchecked conflagration of mutiny was 
spreading swiftly. What would become of Lucknow, 
Cawnpore, Agra, if something were not done at Delhi? 
if the challenge so well given were not followed up? 
And men elsewhere telegraphed the same question, until, 
half-heartedly, the General listened, and finally gave a 
grudging assent to a plan of assault urged by four sub- 
alterns. 

What the details were matters little. A bag of gun- 
powder somewhere, with fixed bayonets to follow. A 
gamester’s throw for sixes or deuce-ace, so said even its 
supporters. But anything seemed better than being a 
target for artillery practice five times better than their 
own, while the mutiny spread around them. 

The secret was well kept as such secrets must be. 
Still the afternoon of the 12th saw a vague stir on the 
Ridge, and though even the fighting men turned in to 
sleep, each man knew what the midnight order meant 
which sent him fumbling hurriedly with belts and buckles. 

“ The city at last, mates! No more playin’ ball,” they 
said to each other as they fell in, and stood waiting the 
next order under the stars; waiting with growing im- 
patience as the minutes slipped by. 

My God! where is Graves? ” fumed Hodson, We 


3i8 on the face of THE WATERS, 

can’t go on without him and his three hundred. Ride, 
someone, and see. The explosion party is ready, the 
Rifles safe within three hundred yards of the wall. The 
dawn will be on us in no time — ride sharp ! ” 

Something has gone wrong,” whispered a comrade. 
“ There were lights in the General’s tent and two mounted 
officers — there! I thought so! It’s all up! ” 

All up indeed! For the bugle which rang out was 
the retreat. Some of those who heard it remembered a 
moonlight night just a month before when it had echoed 
over the Meerut parade ground; and if muttered curses 
could have silenced it the bugle would have sounded in 
vain. But they could not, and so the men went back 
sulkily, despondently to bed. Back to inaction, back to 
target practice. 

“ Graves says he misunderstood the verbal orders, so 
I understand,” palliated a staff-officer in a mess tent 
whither others drifted to find solace from the chill of dis- 
appointment, the heat of anger. A tall man with hawk’s 
eyes and sparse red hair paused for a moment ere pass- 
ing out into the night again. “ I dislike euphemisms,” 
he said curtly. “ In these days I prefer to call a spade a 
spade. Then you can tell what you have to trust to.” 

“ Hodson’s in a towering temper,” said an artillery- 
man as he watched a native servant thirstily; “ I don’t 
wonder. Well! here’s to better luck next time.” 

“ I don’t believe there will be a next time,” echoed a 
lad gloomily. And there was not, for him, the target 
practice settling that point definitely next day. 

“ But why the devil couldn’t ” began another 

vexed voice, then paused. '' Ah ! here comes Erlton 

from the General. He’ll know. I say. Major ” he 

broke off aghast. 

Have a glass of something, Erlton? ” put in a senior 
hastily, “ you look as if you had seen a ghost, man ! ” 
The Major gave an odd hollow laugh. “ The other way 
on — I mean — I — I can’t believe it — but my wife — she — 
she’s alive — she’s in Delhi.” The startled faces around 
s^med too much for him ; he sat down hurriedly and hid 
his face in his hands, only to look up in a second more 

collectedly. '' It has brought the whole d d business 

home, somehow, to have her there.” 


THE CHALLENGE. 


319 


“ But how? the eager voices got so far — no further. 

“ I nearly shot him — should have if he had not ducked, 
for the get up was perfect. Some of you may know the 
man — Douglas — Greyman — a trainer chap, but my Grod! 
a well plucked one. He sneaked into my tent to tell. 
But I don't understand it yet, and he said he would come 
back and arrange. It was all so hurried, you see ; I was 
due at the muster, and he was off when he heard what was 
up to see Graves — whom he knows. Oh, curse the 
whole lot of them! Here, khansaman! brandy — 
anything! " 

He gulped it down fiercely, for he had heard of more 
than life from Jim Douglas. 

The latter, meanwhile, was racing down a ravine as his 
shortest way back to the city. His getting out had been 
the merest chance, depending on his finding Soma as 
sentry at the sally port of the ruined magazine. He had 
instantly risked the danger of another confederate for the 
opportunity, and he was just telling himself with a tri- 
umph of gladness that he had been right, when a curi- 
ous sound like the rustling of dry leaves at his very feet, 
made him spring into the air and cross the flat shelf of 
rock he was passing at a bound; for he knew what the 
noise meant. A true lover's knot of deadly viper, angry 
at intrusion, lay there; the dry Ridge swarms with them. 
But, as he came down lightly on his feet again, some- 
thing slipped from under one, and though he did not fall, 
he knew in a second that he was crippled. Break or 
sprain, he knew instantly that he could not hope to reach 
the sally-port before Soma's watch was up. Yet get back 
he must to the city; for this — he had tri^ a step by this 
time with the aid of a projecting rock — might make it 
impossible for him to return for days if he did the easiest 
thing and crawled upward again hands and knees. That, 
then, was not to be thought of. The Ajmere gate, how- 
ever, might be open for traffic; the Delhi one certainly 
was, morning and evening. The latter meant a round of 
nearly four miles, and endless danger of discovery; but 
it must be done. So he set his face westward. 

It was just twenty-four hours after this, that Tara, 
unable for longer patience, told Kate that she must lock 


320 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

herself in, while she went out to seek news of the master. 
Something must have happened. It was thirty-six 
hours since they had seen him, and if he was gone, that 
was an end. 

Her face as she spoke was fierce, but Kate did not 
seem to care ; she had, in truth, almost ceased to care for 
her own safety except for the sake of the man who had 
taken so much trouble about it. So she sat down quietly, 
resolved to open the locked door no more. They might 
break it in if they chose, or she could starve. What did 
it matter? 

Tara meanwhile went, naturally, to seek Soma’s aid, 
all other considerations fading before the master’s safety ; 
and so of course came instantly on the clew she sought. 
He had left the city, let out by Soma’s own hands ; hands 
which had never meant to let him in again, that being a 
different affair. And though he had said he would 
return, why should he? asked Soma. Whereupon 
Tara, to prove her ground for fear, told of the hidden 
mem. She would have told anything for the sake of the 
master. And Soma looked at her fierce face apprehen- 
sively. 

“That is for after!” she said curtly, impatiently. 
“ Now we must make sure he is not wounded. There 
was fighting to-day. Come, thou canst give the pass- 
word and we can search before dawn if we take a light. 
That is the first thing.” 

But as, cresset in hand, Tara stooped over many a 
huddled heap or long, still stretch of limb, Kate, with a 
beating heart, was listening to the sound of someone on 
the stairs. The next moment she had flung the door 
wide at the first hint of the first familiar knock. 

“Where is Tara?” asked Jim Douglas peremptorily, 
still holding to the door jamb for support. 

“ She went — to look for you — we thought — what has 
happened? — what is the matter? ” she faltered. 

“ Fool! as if that would do any good! Nothing’s the 
matter, Mrs. Erlton. I hurt my ankle, that’s all.” He 
tried to step over the threshold as he spoke, but even that 
short pause, from sheer dogged effort, had made its re- 
newal an agony, and he put out his hand to her blindly. 


THE CHALLENGE, 


321 


I shall have to ask you to help me” he began, then 
paused. Her arm was round him in a second, but he 
stood still, looking up at her curiously, “ To — to help,” 
he repeated. Then she had to drag him forward by main 
force so that he might fall clear of the door and enable 
her to close it swiftly. For who could tell what lay 
behind? 

One thing was certain. That hand on her arm had 
almost scorched her — the ankle he had spoken of must 
have been agony to move. Yet there was nothing to be 
done save lay cold water to it, and to his burning head, 
settle him as best she could on a pillow and quilt as he 
lay, and then sit beside him waiting for Tara to return; 
for Tara could bring what was wanted. But if Tara was 
never to return? Kate sat, listening to the heavy breath- 
ing, broken by half-delirious moans, and changing the 
cool cloths, while the Stars dipped and the gray of dawn 
grew to that dominant bubble of the mosque ; and, as she 
sat, a thousand wild schemes to help this man, who had 
helped her for so long, passed through her brain, filling 
her with a certain gladness. 

Until in the early dawn Tara’s voice, calling on her, 
stole through the door. 

It was still so dark that Kate, opening it with the quick 
cry — “ He is here, Tara, he is here safe,” did not see the 
tall figure standing behind the woman’s, did not see the 
menace of either face, did not see Tara’s quick thrust of 
a hand backward as if to check someone behind. 

So she never knew that Jim Douglas, helpless, uncon- 
scious, had yet stepped once more between her and 
death; for Tara was on her knees beside the prostrate 
figure in a second, and Soma, closing the door carefully, 
salaamed to Kate with a look of relief in his handsome 
face. This settled the doubtful duty of denouncing the 
hidden Mlechchas. How could that be done in a house 
where the master lay sick? 

And he lay sick for days and weeks, fighting against 
sun-fever and inflammation, against the general strain of 
that month of inaction, which, as. Kate found with a pulse 
of soft pity, had sprinkled the hair about his temples with 
gray. 


322 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ He would die for her,” said Tara gloomily, grudg- 
ingly, “ so she must live. Soma ” 

‘‘ Nay! ’twas not I ” began her brother, then held 

his peace, doubtful if the disavowal was to his praise or 
blame; for duty was a puzzle to. most folk in those hot, 
lingering days of June, when the Ridge and the City 
skirmished with each other and wondered mutually if 
anything were gained by it. Yet both Men and Murder- 
ers were cheerful, and Major Erl ton going to see the hos- 
pital after that fifteen hours’ fight of the 23d of June, 
when the centenary of Plassey, a Hindoo fast and a 
Mohammedan festival, made the sepoys come out to cer- 
tain victory in full parade uniform, with all their medals 
on, heard the lad whose girl had been killed at Meerut 
say in an aggrieved tone, “ And the nigger as stuck me 

’ad ’er Majesty’s scarlet coatee on ’is d d carcass, and 

a ’eap of medals she give him a-blazin’ on his breast — 
dash ’is impudence.” 

So blue eye met blue eye again sympathetically, for 
that was no time to see the pathos of the story. 


CHAPTER IV. 

BUGLES AND FIFES. 

There was a blessed coolness in the air, for the rains 
had broken, the molten heats of June had passed. And 
still that handful of obstinate aliens clung like barnacles 
to the bare red rocks of the Ridge. Clung all the closer 
because in one corner of it, beside the canal, they had be- 
come part of the soil itself in rows, on rows of new-made 
graves. A strong rear-guard this, what with disease 
and exposure superadded to skirmishes and target-prac- 
tice. Yet, though not a gun in the city had been 
silenced, not a battery advanced a yard, the living garri- 
son day after day dug these earthworks for the dead one, 
firm as it, in silent resolve to yield no inch of foot- 
hold on those rocks till the Judgment Day, when Men 
and Murderers should pass together to the. great settle- 
ment of this world’s quarrels. 


BUGLES AND FIFES, 


323 


And yet those in command began to look at each 
other, and ask what the end was to be, for though, 
despite the daily drain, the Widow’s Cruse grew in num- 
bers as time went on, the city grew also, portentously. 

Still the men were cheerful, the Ridge strangely unlike 
a war-camp in some ways ; for the country to the rear was 
peaceful, posts came every day, and there was no lack 
even of luxuries. Grain merchants deserting their city 
shops set up amid the surer payments of the cantonment 
bazaar, and the greed for gain brought hawkers of fruit, 
milk, and vegetables to run the gauntlet of the guns, while 
some poor folk living on their wits, when there was not a 
rag or a patch or a bit of wood left to be looted in the de- 
serted bungalows, took to earning pennies by tracking 
the big shot as they trundled in the ravines, and bringing 
them to the masters, who needed them. 

Between the rain-showers too, men, after the manner 
of Englishmen, began to talk of football matches, sky 
races, and bewail the fact of the racket court being within 
range of the walls. But some, like Major Reid, who 
never left his post at Hindoo Rao’s house for three 
months, preferred to face the city always. To watch it 
as a cat watches a mouse to which she means to deal 
death by and by. Herbert Erlton was one of these, and 
so his old khansaman, with whom Kate used to quarrel 
over his terribly Oriental ideas of Irish stew and such 
like — would bring him his lunch, sometimes his dinner, 
to the pickets. It was quite a dignified procession, with 
a cook-boy carrying a brazier, so that the Huzoor’s 
food should be hot, and the bhisti carrying a porous pot 
of water holding bottles, so that the Huzoor’s drink 
might be cool. The khansaman, a wizened figure with 
many yards of waistband swathed round his middle, lead- 
ing the way with the mint sauce for the lamb, or the 
mustard for the beefsteak. He used at first to mumble 
charms and vows for safe passage as he crossed the val- 
ley of the shadow; as a dip where round shot loved to 
dance was nicknamed by the men. But so many others 
of his trade were bringing food to the master that he 
soon grew callous to the danger, and grinned like the 
rest when a wild caper to dodge a trundling, thundering 


324 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


ball made a fair-haired laddie remark sardonically to the 
caperer, “ It’s well for you, my boy, that you haven’t 
spilled my dinner.” 

Perhaps it was, considering the temper of the times. 
Herbert Erlton, eating his lunch, sheltered from the pelt- 
ing rain behind the low scarp which by this time scored 
the summit of the Ridge, smiled also. He was all grimed 
and smirched with helping young Light — the gayest 
dancer in Upper India — with his guns. He helped wher- 
ever he could in his spare time, for a great restlessness 
came over him when out of sight of those rose-red walls. 
They had a fascination for him since Jim Douglas’ fail- 
ure to return had left him uncertain what they held. So, 
when the day’s work slackened, as it always did toward 
sunset, and the rain clearing, he had drifted back to his 
tent for a bath and a change, he drifted out again along 
the central road, where those off duty were lounging, 
and the sick had their beds set out for the sake of com- 
pany and cooler air. It was a quieter company than 
usual, for some two days before the General himself had 
joined the rear-guard by the canal; struck down by 
cholera, and dying with the half-conscious, wholly 
pathetic words on his lips, “ strengthen the right.” 

And that very day the auctions of his and other dead 
comrades’ effects had been held; so that more than one 
usually thoughtless youngster looked down, maybe, on 
a pair of shoes into which he had stepped over a grave. 

Still it was an eager company, as it discussed Lieu- 
tenant Hill’s exploit of the morning, and asked for the 
latest bulletin of that reckless young fighter with fists 
against the swords. 

“ How was it? ” asked the Major, “ I only heard the 
row. The beggars must have got clean into camp.” 

“ Right up to the artillery lines. You see it was so 
beastly misty and rainy, and they were dressed like the 
native vidette. So Hills, thinking them friends, let them 
pass his two guns, until they began charging the Cara- 
bineers; and then it was too late to stop ’em.” 

“ Why?” 

Carabineers — didn’t stand, somehow, except their 
officer. So Hills charged instead. By George! I’d 


BUGLES AND FIFES. 325 

have given a fiver to see him do it. You know what a 
little chap he is — a boy to look at. And then ” 

“ And then,” interrupted the Doctor, who had been 
giving a glance at a ticklish bandage as he passed the bed 
round which the speakers were gathered, “ I think I can 
tell you in his own words; for he was quite cool and col- 
lected when they brought him in — said it was from bleed- 
ing so much about the head — — ” 

A ripple of mirth ran through the listeners, but Major 
Erlton did not smile this time; the laugh was too tender. 

“ He said he thought if he charged it would be a di- 
version, and give time to load up. So he rode — Yes! I 
should like to have seen it too! — slap at the front rank, 
cut down the first fellow, slashed the next over the face. 
Then the two following crashed into him, and down he 
went at such a pace that he only got a slice to his jacket 
and lay snug till the troop — a hundred and fifty or so — 
rode over him. Then — ha — ha ! he got up and looked for 
his sword! Had just found it ten yards off, when three 
of them turned back for him. He dropped one from his 
horse, dodged the other, who had a lance, and finally 
gashed him over the head. Number three was on foot — 
the man he’d dropped, he thinks, at first — and they had 
a regular set to. Then Hill’s cloak, soaked with rain, 
got round his throat and half choked him, and the brute 
managed to disarm him. So he had to go for him with 
his fists, and by punching merrily at his head managed 
all right till he tripped over his cloak and fell ” 

“ And then,” put in another voice eagerly, “ Tombs, 
his Major, who had been running from his tent through 
the thick of those charging devils on foot to see what 
was up that the Carabineers should be retiring, saw him 
lying on the ground, took a pot shot at thirty paces — and 
dropped his man! ” 

“ By George, what luck!” commented someone; “he 
must have been blown! ” 

“Accustomed to turnips, I should say,” remarked 
another, with a curiously even voice ; the voice of one with 
a lump in his throat, and a slight difficulty in keeping 
steady. 

“ Did they kill the lot? ” asked Major Erlton quickly. 


326 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ Bungled it rather, but it was all right in the end. 
They were a plucky set, though ; charged to the very mid- 
dle of the camp, shouting to the black artillery to join 
them, to come back with them to Delhi/’ 

‘'But they met with a pluckier lot!” interrupted the 
man who had suggested turnips. “ The black company 
wasn’t ready for action. The white one behind it was ; 
unlimbered, loaded. And the blackies knew it. So they 
called out to fire — fire at once — fire sharp — fire through 

them — Well! d n it all, black or white, I don’t care, 

it’s as plucky a thing as has been done yet.” He moved 
away, his hands in his pockets, attempting a whistle ; per- 
haps to hide his trembling lips. 

“ I agree,” said the Doctor gravely, “ though it wasn’t 
necessary to take them at their word. But somehow it 
makes that mistake afterward all the worse.” 

“ How many of the poor beggars were killed. Doctor,” 
asked an uneasy voice in the pause which followed. 

“ Twenty or so. Grass-cutters and such like. They 
were hiding in the cemetery from the troopers, who were 
slashing at everyone, and our men pursuing the party 
which escaped over the canal bridge — made — made 
a mistake. And — I’m sorry to say there was a 
woman ” 

“There have been too many mistakes of that sort,” 
said an older voice, breaking the silence. “ I wish to God 
some of us would think a bit. What would our lives be 
without our servants, who, let us remember, outnumber 
us by ten to one? If they weren’t faithful ” 

“ Not quite so many. Colonel,” remarked the Doctor 
with a nod of approval. “ Twenty families came to the 
Brigade-major to-day with their bundles, and told him 
they preferred the quiet of home to the distraction of 
camp. I don’t wonder.” 

“ It is all their own fault,” broke in an angry young 
voice, “ why did they ” 

And so began one of the arguments, so common in 
camp, as to the right of revenge pure and simple. Argu- 
ments fostered by the newspapers, where, every day, let- 
ters appeared from “ Spartacus,” or “ Fiat Justitia,” or 
some such mm de plume. Letters all alike in one thing, 


BUGLES A LTD FIFES. 


m 

that they quoted texts of Scripture. Notably one about 
a daughter of Babylon and the blessedness of throwing 
children on stones. 

But Major Erlton did not stop to listen to it. The, 
ethics of the question did not interest him, and in truth 
mere revenge was lost in him in the desire, not so much 
to kill, as to fight. To go on hacking and hewing for 
ever and ever. As he drifted on smoking his cigar he 
thought quite kindly of the poor devils of grass-cutters 
who really worked uncommonly well; just, in fact, as if 
nothing had happened. So did the old khansaman, and 
the sweeper who had come back to him on his return to 
the Ridge, saying that the Huzoor would find the tale of 
chickens complete. And the garden of the ruined house 
near the Flagstaff Tower whither his feet led him uncon- 
sciously, as they often did of an evening, was kept tidy; 
the gardener — when he saw the tall figure approaching — 
going over to a rose-bush, which, now that the rain had 
fallen, was new budding with white buds, and picking him 
a buttonhole. He sat down on the plinth of the veranda 
twiddling it idly in his fingers as he looked out over the 
panorama of the eastern plains, the curving river, and 
the city with the white dome of the mosque hanging un- 
supported above the smoke and mist wreaths. For now, 
at sunsetting, the sky was a mass of rose-red and violet 
cloud and a white steam rose from the dripping trees and 
the moist ground. It was a perfect picture. But he only 
saw the city. That, to him, was India. That filled his eye. 
The wide plains east and west, north and south, where 
the recent rain had driven every thought save one of a 
harvest to come, from the minds of millions, where the 
master meant simply the claimer of revenue, might have 
been non-existent so far as he, and his like, were con- 
cerned. 

Yet even for the city he had no definite conception. 
He merely looked at it idly, then at the rosebud he 
held. And that reminding him of a certain white marble 
cross with “ Thy will be done ” on it, he rose suddenly, 
almost impatiently. But there was no resignation in his 
face, as he wandered toward the batteries again with the 
white flower of a blameless life stuck in his old flannel 


323 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

coat and a strange conglomerate of pity a,nd passion in 
his heart, while the city — as the light faded — grew more 
and more like the clouds above it, rose-red and purple; 
until, in the distance, it seemed a city of dreams. 

In truth it was so still, despite the clangor of bugles 
and fifes which Bukht Khan brought with him when, on 
the 1st of July, he crossed the swollen river in boats with 
five thousand mutineers. A square-shouldered man 
was Bukht Khan, with a broad face and massive beard; 
a massive sonorous voice to match. A man of the 
Cromwell type, of the church militant, disciplinarian 
to the back-bone, believing in drill, yet with an eye to a 
Providence above platoon exercise. And there was no 
lack of soldiers to drill in Delhi by this time. They came 
in squads and battalions, to jostle each other in the streets 
and overflow into the camp on the southern side of the 
city; that furthest from the obstinate colony on the Ridge. 
But first they flung themselves against it in all the ardor 
of new brooms, and failing to sweep the barnacles away, 
subsided into the general state of dreaminess and drugs. 
For the bugles and fifes could always be disobeyed on 
the plea that they were not sounded by the right Com- 
mander-in-Chief. There were three of them now. 
Bukht Khan the Queen’s nominee, Mirza Moghul, and 
another son of the King’s, Khair Sultan. So that Abool- 
Bukr’s maudlin regrets for possible office became acute, 
and Newasi’s despairing hold on his hand had to gain 
strength from every influence she could bring to bear 
upon it. Even drunkenness and debauchery were safer 
than intrigue, to that vision of retribution which seemed 
to have left him, and taken to haunting her day and night. 
So she held him fast, and when he was not there wept and 
prayed, and listened hollow-eyed • to a Moulvie who 
preached at the neighboring mosque ; a ma.!i who 
preached a judgment. 

“ Thou art losing thy looks, mine Aunt,” said the 
Prince to her one day. Not unkindly; on the contrary, 
almost tenderly. “ Dost know, Newasi, thou art more 
woman than most, for thou dost brave all things, even loss 
of good name — for I swear even these Mufti folk com- 
plain of thee — for nothing. None other I know would 


BUGLES AND FIFES. 329 

(lo it, SO I would not have it — for something. Yet some 
day we shall quarrel over it; some day thy patience will 
go; some day thou wilt be as others, thinking of thyself; 
and then ” 

“ And then, nephew? she asked coldly. 

He laughed, mimicking her tone. “ And then I shall 
grow tired and go mine own way to mine own end.” 

In the meantime, however, the thrummings and drum- 
mings went on until Kate Erlton, watching a sick bed 
hard by, felt as if she must send round and beg for 
quiet. It seemed quite natural she should do so, for 
she was completely absorbed over that patient of hers, 
who, without being seriously ill, would not get better. 
Who passed from one relapse of fever to another with a 
listless impatience, and now, nearly a month after he had 
stumbled. over the threshold, lay barely convalescent. It 
had been a strange month. Stranger even than the pre- 
vious one, when she had dragged through the lonely days 
as best she could, and he had wandered in and out rest- 
lessly, full of strain and stress. If even that had been a 
curious linking of their fates, what was this when she 
tended him day and night, when the weeks slipped by 
securely, almost ignorantly? For though Soma came 
every day to inquire after the master, standing at the 
door to salute to her, spick and span in full uniform, he 
brought no disturbing news. 

4t seemed to her, now, that she had known Jim Doug- 
las'* all his life. And in truth she had learned something 
of the real man during the few days of delirium conse- 
quent on the violent inflammation which set in on the in- 
jured ankle. But for the most part he had muttered and 
moaned in liquid Persian. He had always spoken it with 
Zora, who had been taught it as part of her attractions, 
and ro doubt it was the jingle of the jewels as Kate 
tended him, which reminded him of that particular part 
of his life. 

By the time he came to himself, however, she had re- 
moved all the fineries, finding them in the way; save the 
heavy gold bangle which would 'not come off — at least 
not without help. He used to watch it half confusedly 
at first as it slipped up and down her arm, and wondered 


330 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


why she had not asked Tara to take it off for her; but he 
grew rather to like the look of it; ^ fancy that she had 
kept it on on purpose, to be glad that she had ; though it 
was distinctly hard when she raised him up on his pillows ! 
For, after all, fate linked them strangely, and he was 
grateful to her — very grateful. 

“ You are laughing at me,” she said one morning as 
she came up to his bed, with a tray improvised out of a 
brass platter, and found him smiling. 

“ I have been laughing at you all the morning, when 
I haven’t been grumbling,” he replied, “ at you and the 
chicken tea, and that little fringed business, to do 
duty as a napkin, I suppose, and the fly-paper — which 
isn’t the least use, by the way, and I’m sure I could make 
a better one — and the mosquito net to give additional 
protection to my beauty when I fall asleep. Who could 
help laughing at it?” 

She looked at him reproachfully. “ But it makes" you 
more comfortable, surely?/’ 

“Comfortable,” he echoed, “my dear lady! It is a 
perfect convalescent home ! ” 

But in the silence which followed his right hand 
clenched itself over a fold in the quilt unmistakably. 

“ If you will take your chicken tea,” she replied cheer- 
fully, despite a faint tremble in her voice, “ you will 
soon get out of it. And really, Mr. Greyman, you don’t 
seem to have lost any chance. Soma is not very com- 
municative, but everything seems as it was. I never 
keep back anything from you. But, indeed, the chief 
thing in the city seems that there is no money to pay the 
soldiers. Do you know. I’m afraid Soma must loot the 
shops like the others. He seems. to get things for noth- 
ing; though of course they are extraordinarily cheap. 
When I was a mem I used to pay twice as much for 
eggs.” 

He interrupted her with a laugh that had a tinge of 
bitterness in it. “ Did you happen to know the story of 
the Jew who was eating ham during a thunderstorm, 
Mrs. Erlton?” 

She shook her head, smiling, being accustomed by this 
time to his unsparing, rather reckless ridicule. 


BUGLES AND FIFES, 


331 


“ He looked up and said, ' All this fuss about a little 
bit of pork.’ So all this fuss has taught you the price of 
eggs. Upon my word! it is worse than the convales- 
cent home 1 ” He lay back upon his pillows with a half- 
irritated weariness. 

“ I have learned more than that, surely ” she began. 

“Learned!” he echoed sharply. “You’ve learned 
everything, my dear lady, necessary to salvation. That’s 
the worst of it! Your chatter to Tara — I hear when you 
think I am asleep. You draw your veil over your face 
when the water-carrier comes to fill the pots as if you had 
been born on a housetop. You — Mrs. Erlton! If I 
were not a helpless idiot I could pass you out of the city 
to-morrow, I believe. It isn’t your fault any longer. It’s 
mine, and Heaven only knows how long. Oh ! confound 
that thrumming and drumming. It gets on my nerves — 
my nerves ! — pshaw ! ” 

It was then that Kate declared that she would really 
send Tara 

“ Mrs. Erlton presents her compliments to the Prin- 
cess Farkhoonda Zamani, and will be obliged,” jested 
Jim Douglas; then paused, in truth more irritated than 
amused, despite the humor on his face. And suddenly 
he appealed to her almost pitifully, “ Mrs. Erlton ! if any- 
one had told you it would be like this — your chance and 
mine — when the world outside us was alive — was strug- 
gling for life — would you — would you have believed it? ” 

She bent to push the chicken tea to a securer position. 

“ No,” she said softly; then to change the subject, added, ^ 
“ How white your hands are getting again ! I must put 
some more stain on them, I suppose.” She spoke regret- 
fully, though she did not mind putting it on her own. 
But he looked at the whiteness with distinct distaste. 

“ It is with doing nothing and lying like a log. Well! 

I suppose I shall wake from the dream some day, and 
then the moment I can walk ” 

“ There will be an end of peace,” she interrupted, quite 
resolutely. “ I know it is very hard for you to lie still, 
but really you must see how much safer and smoother 
life has been since you were forced to give in to Fate.” 

“ And Kate,” he muttered crossly under his breath. 


33 ^ OM THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

But she heard it, and bit her lip to prevent a tender smile 
as she went off to give an order to Tara. For the vein of 
almost boyish mischief and lighthearted recklessness 
which showed in him at times always made her think 
how charming he must have been before the cloud shad- 
owed his life. 

“ The master is much better to-day, Tara,” she said 
cheerfully. “ I really think the fever has gone for good.” 

“ Then he will soon be able to take the mem away,” 
replied the woman quickly. 

“ Are you in such a hurry to get rid of me? ” asked 
Kate with a smile, for she had grown fond of the tall, 
stately creature, with her solemn airs of duty, and abso- 
lute disregard of anything which came in its way. The 
intensity of the emotion which swept over the face, which 
was usually calm as a bronze statue, startled Kate. 

“ Of a truth I shall be glad to go back. The Huzoors’ 
life is not my life, their death not my death.” 

It was as if the woman’s whole nature had recoiled, as 
one might recoil from a snake in the path, and a chill 
struck Kate Erlton’s heart, as she realized on how 
frail a foundation peace and security rested. A look, a 
word, might bring death. It seemed to her incredible 
that she should have forgotten this, but she had. She 
had almost forgotten that they were living in a be- 
leagured city, though the reverberating roll of artillery, 
the rush and roar of shells, and the crackle of musketry 
never ceased for more than a few hours at a time. 

She was not alone, however, in her forgetfulness. Half 
Delhi had become accustomed to cannon, to bugles and 
fifes, and went on its daily round indifferently. But in 
the Palace the dream grew ominously thin once or twice. 
For not a fraction remained in the Treasury, no effort 
to collect revenue had been made anywhere, and fat 
Mahboob, the only man who knew how to screw money 
out of a stone, lay dying of dropsy. And as he lay, the 
mists of personal interest in the future dispersing, he told 
his old master, the King, some home truths privately, 
while Ahsan-Oolah, the physician, administering cooling 
draughts as usual, added his wisdom to the eunuch’s. 
There was no hope where there was no money. Life 


BUGLES AND FIFES. 


333 


was not worth living without a regular pension. Let the 
King secure his and secure pardon while there was 
yet time, by sending a letter to the General on the Ridge, 
and offering to let the English in by Selimgarh and be- 
tray the city. When all was said and done, others had 
betrayed him, had forced his hand; so let him save him- 
self if he could, quietly, without a word to any but 
Ahsan-Oolah. Above all, not one word to Zeenut 
Maihl, Hussan Askuri, and Bukht Khan — that Trinity of 
Dreams! 

With which words of wisdom mayhap lightening his 
load of sins, the fat eunuch left the court once and for 
all. So the old King, as he sat listening to the quarrels 
of his Commander-in-Chief, had other consolation be- 
sides couplets; and when he wrote 

“ No peace, no rest, since armies round me riot, 

Life lingers yet, but ere Ipng I shall die o’t,” 

he knew — though his yellow, wax-like mask hid the 
knowledge from all — that a chance of escape remained. 

The old King’s letter reached the Ridge easily. There 
was no difficulty in communication now. Spies were 
plentiful, and if Jim Douglas had been able to get about, 
he could have set Major Erlton’s mind at rest without 
delay. But Soma positively refused to be a go-between; 
to do anything, in short, save secure the master’s safety. 
And the offer of betrayal arrived when the man who held 
command of the Ridge felt uncertain of the future ; all the 
more so because of the telegrams, the letters — almost the 
orders — which came pouring in to take Delhi — to take it 
at once! Early in the month, the gamester’s throw of 
assault had been revived with the arrival of reinforce- 
ments, only to be abandoned once more, within an hour 
of the appointed time, in favor of the grip-of-death. But 
now, though the whisper had gone no further than the 
General’s tent, a third possibility was allowed — retreat. 
The six thousand were dwindling day by day, the men 
were half dead with picket duty, wearied out with need- 
less skirmishes, crushed by the tyranny of bugles and 
fifes. 

If this then could be? There was no lack of desire to 


334 


ON TNM FA CM OF THE WATFFS. 


believe it possible; but Greathed of the politicals, and 
Sir Theophilus Metcalfe shook their heads doubtfully. 
Hodson, they said, had better be consulted. So the tall 
man with the blue hawk’s eyes, who had lost his temper 
many times since that dawn of the I2th of June, when the 
first assault had hung fire, was asked for his opinion. 

“ We had a chance at the beginning,” he said. “ We 
could have a chance now, if there was someone — but that 
is beside the question. As for this, it is not worth the 
paper it is written on. The King has no power to fulfill 
his promise. He is virtually a prisoner himself. That 
is the truth. But don’t send an answer. Refer it, and 
keep him quiet.” 

‘‘ And retreat? ” 

“ Retreat is impossible, sir. It would lose us India.” 

Any news, Hodson? ” asked Major Erlton, meeting 
the free-lance as he rode back to his tent after his fashion, 
with loose rein and loose seat, unkempt, undeviating, 
with an eye for any and every advantage. 

“ None.” 

Any chance of — of anything? ” 

“ None with our present chiefs. If we had Sir Henry 
Lawrence here it would be different.” 

But Sir Henry Lawrence, having done his duty to the 
uttermost, already lay dead in the residency at Lucknow, 
though the tidings had not reached the Ridge. And yet 
more direful tidings were on their way to bring July, that 
month of clouds and cholera, of flies and funerals, of end- 
less buglings and filings, to a close. 

it came to the city first. Came one afternoon when 
the King sat in the private Hall of Audience, his back 
toward the arcaded view of the eastern plains, ablaze 
with sunlight, his face toward the garden, which, through 
the marble-mosaic traced arches, showed like an em- 
broidered curtain of green set with jeweled flowers. 
Above him, on the roof, circled the boastful legend: 

'* If earth holds a haven of bliss 
It is this — it is this — it is this ! " 

And all around him, in due order of precedence, ac- 
cording to the latest army lists procurable in Delhi, were 


BUGLES AND FIFES, 


335 


ranged the mutinous native officers; for half the King’s 
sovereignty showed itself in punctilious etiquette. At his 
feet, below the peacock throne, stood a gilded cage con- 
taining a cockatoo. For Hafzan had been so far right 
in her estimate of Hussan Askuri’s wonders that poor lit- 
tle Sonny’s pet, duly caught, and with its crest dyed an 
orthodox green, had been used — like the stuffed lizard — 
to play on the old man’s love of the marvelous. So, for 
the time being, the bird followed him in his brief journey- 
ings from Audience Hall to balcony, from balcony to bed. 

The usual pile of brocaded bags lay below that again, 
upon the marble floor, where a reader crouched, 
sampling the most loyal to be used as a sedative. One 
would be needed ere long, for the Commanders-in-Chief 
were at war; Bukht Khan, backed by Hussan Askuri, 
with his long black robe, his white beard, and the wild 
eyes beneath his bushy brows, and by all the puritans and 
fanatics of the city; Mirza Moghul by his brother, Khair 
Sultan, and most of the Northern Indian rebels who re- 
fused an ex-soubadar’s right to be better than they. 

“ Let the Light-of-the- World choose between us,” 
came the sonorous voice almost indifferently; in truth 
those secret counsels with the Queen, of which the Pal- 
ace was big with gossip, held small place, allowed small 
consideration for the puppet King. 

Yea! let the Pillar-of-State choose,” bawled the shrill 
voice of the Moghul, whose yellow, small-featured face 
was ablaze with passion. ‘‘ Choose between his son and 
heir and this low-born upstart, this soubadar of artillery,, 
this puritan by profession, this debaucher of King’s ” 

He paused, for Bukht Khan’s hand was on his swords 
and there was an ominous stir behind Hussan Askuri. 
Ahsan-Oolah, a discreet figure in black standing by the 
side of the throne, craned his long neck forward, and his 
crafty face wore an amused smile. 

Bukht Khan laughed disdainfully at the Mirza’s full 
stop. “ What I am, sire, matters little if I can lead 
armies to victory. The Mirza hath not led his, as yet.” 

“Not led them?” interrupted an officious peace- 
bringer. “ Lo! the hell-doomed are reduced to five hun- 
dred; the colonels are eating their horses’ grain, the 


33 ^ ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

captains are starving, and our shells cause terror as they 

cry, ‘Coffin! Coffin! (boccus! boccus!) 

The Mirza could do as v^ell as thou,” put in a parti- 
san, heedless of the tales to which the King, however, 
had been nodding his head, “ if, as thou hast, he had 
money to pay his troops. The Begum Zeenut Maihl's 
hoards ” 

The sword and the hand kept company again signifi- 
cantly. “ I pay my men by the hoard I took from the 
infidel, Meean-jee,” retorted the loud, indifferent voice. 
“ And when it is done I can get more. The Palace is 
not sucked dry yet, nor Delhi either.” 

The Meean, well known to have feathered his nest 
bravely, muttered something inaudible, but a stout, 
white-robed gentleman bleated hastily: 

“ There is no more money to be loaned in Delhi, be 
the interest ever so high.” 

The broad face broadened with a sardonic smile. “ I 
borrow, banker-jee, according to the tenets of the faith, 
without interest! For the rest, five minutes in thy house 
with a spade and a string bed to hang thee on head down, 
and I pay every fighter for the faith in Delhi his arrears.” 

“ Wdh! Wdh! ” A fierce murmur of approval ran 
round the audience, for all liked that way of dealing with 
folk who kept their money to themselves. 

“But, Khan-jee! there is no such hurry,” protested 
the keeper of peace, the promoter of dreams. “ The 
hell-doomed are at the last gasp. Have not two 
Commanders-in-Chief had to commit suicide before their 
troops? And was not the third allowed by special favor 
of the Queen to go away and do it privately? This one' 
will have to do it also, and then ” 

“ And a letter has but this day come in,” said a grave, 
clever-looking man, interrupting the tale once more, 
“ offering ten lakhs ; but as the writer makes stipula- 
tions, we are asking what treasury he means to loot, or 
if it is hidden hoards.” 

Bukht Khan shrugged his shoulders. “ The Meean’s 
or the banker’s hoards are nearer,” he said brutally, 
“ and money we must have, if we are to fight as soldiers. 
Otherwise ” He paused. There was a stir at the 


BUGLES AND FIFES. 


337 


entrance, where a news-runner had unceremoniously 
pushed his way in to flourish a letter in a long envelope, 
and pant with vehement show of breathlessness. “ In 
haste! In haste! and buksheesh for the bringer.” 

The King, who had been listening wearily to the dis- 
pute, thinking possibly that the paucity of commanders 
on the Ridge was preferable t6 the plethora of them at 
court, looked up indifferently. They came so often, 
these bearers of wonderful news. Not so often as the 
little brocaded bags; but they had no more effect. 

“ Reward him, Keeper-of-the-Purse,” he said punc- 
tiliously, “ and read, slave. It is some victory to our 
troops, no doubt.” 

There was a pause, during which people waited indif- 
ferently, wondering, some of them, if it was bogus news 
that was to come or not. 

Then the court moonshee stood up with a doubtful 
face. ‘‘ ’Tis from Cawnpore,” he murmured, forgetting 
decorum and etiquette; forgetting everything save the 
/lews that the Nana of Bithoor had killed the two hun- 
dred women and children he had pledged himself to 
save. 

Bukht Khan’s hand went to his sword once more, as 
he listened, and he turned hastily to Hussan Askuri. 

“ That settles it as thou wouldst have it,” he whispered. 

“ It is Holy War indeed, or defeat.” 

But Mirza Moghul shrank as a man shrinks from the 
scaffold. 

The old King stood up quickly; stood up between the , 
lights looking out on the curtain of flowers. What- 
ever happens,” he said tremulously, “ happens by the 
will of God.” 

His sanctimoniousness never failed him. 

So on the night of the 23d of August there was an 
unwonted stillness in the city, and the coming of day did 
not break it. The rain, it is true, fell in torrents, but 
many an attack had been made in rain before. There 
was none now. The bugles and fifes had ended, and 
folk were waiting for the drum ecclesiastic to begin. 
What they thought meanwhile, who knows? Delhi held 
a hundred and fifty thousand souls, swelled to nigh two 


338 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

hundred thousand by soldiers. Only this, therefore, is 
certain, the thoughts must have been diverse. 

But on the Ridge, when, after a few days, the tidings 
reached it with certainty, there was but one. It found 
expression in a letter which the General wrote on the last 
day of July. “ It is my firm intention to hold my present 
position and resist attack to the last. The enemy are 
very numerous, and may possibly break through our 
intrenchments and overwhelm us, but the force will die 
at its post.” 

No talk of retirement now! The millions of peasants 
plowing their land peaceably in firm faith of a just mas- 
ter who would take no more than his due, the thousands 
even in the bloody city itself waiting for this tyranny to 
pass, were not to be deserted. The fight would go on. 
The fight for law and order. 

So the sanctimonious old King had said sooth, What- 
ever happens, happens by the will of God.” 

Those two hundred had not died in vain. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 

The silence of the city had lasted for seven days. And 
now, on the ist of August, the dawn was at hand, and the 
rain which had been falling all night had ceased, leaving 
pools of water about the city walls. Still, smooth pools 
like plates of steel, dimly reflecting the gray misty sky 
against which the minarets of the mosque showed as 
darker streaks, its dome like a faint cloud. 

And suddenly the silence ended. The first shudder- 
ing beat of a royal salute vibrated through the heavy 
dewy air, the first chord of “ God save the Queen,” 
played by every band in Delhi, floated Ridgeward. 

The cheek of it! 

That phrase — no other less trenchant, more refined — 
expressed purely the feeling with which the roused six 
thousand listened from picket or tent, comfortable bed or 


THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC, 


339 


damp sentry-go, to this topsy-turveydom of anthems! 
The cheek of it! The very walls ought to fall Jericho- 
wise before such sacrilegious music. 

But in the city it sent a thrill through hearts and 
brains. For it roused many a dreamer who had never 
felt the chill of a sword-hilt on his palm to the knowl- 
edge that the time for gripping one had come. 

Since this was Bukr-eed, the Great Day of Sacrifice. 
No common Bukr-eed either, when the blood of a goat 
or a bull would worthily commemorate Abraham’s sacri- 
fice of his best and dearest, but something more akin to 
the old patriarch’s devotion. Since on Bukr-eed, 1857, 
the infidel was to be sacrificed by the faithful, and the 
faithful by the infidel. 

For the silence of seven days had been a silence only 
from bugles and fifes; the drum ecclesiastic had taken 
their place. The mosques had resounded day and night 
to the wild tirades of preachers, and even Mohammed 
Ismail, feeling that in religious war lay the only chance 
of forgiveness for past horrors, spent every hour in paint- 
ing its perfections, in deprecating any deviation from its 
rule. The sword or the faith for men ; the faith without 
the sword for those who could not fight. But others 
were less scrupulous, their denunciations less guarded, 
and as the processions passed through the narrow streets 
flaunting the green banner, half the Mohammedan popu- 
lation felt that the time had come to strike their blow for 
the faith. And Hussan Askuri dreamed dreams; and 
the Bird-of-Heaven, with its crest new-dyed for the occa- 
sion, gave the Great Cry viciously as it was paraded 
through jostling crowds in the Thunbi Bazaar, where 
religion found recruits by the score even among the 
women. While Abool-Bukr, vaguely impressed by the 
stir, the color, the noise, took to the green and swore to 
live cleanly. So that Newasi’s soft eyes shone as she 
repeated Mohammed Ismail’s theories. They were very 
true, the Prince said; besides this could be nothing but 
honest fighting since there were no women on the Ridge; 
whereupon she stitched away at his green banner fear- 
lessly. 

But in the Palace it needed all Bukht Khan’s determi- 


ON THE PACE OF THE WATERS. 

nation and Hussan Askuri’s wily dreams to reconcile the 
old King to the breach of etiquette which the sacrifice 
of a camel instead of a bull by the royal hands involved. 
For the army — three-quarters Brahmin and Rajpoot — 
had been promised, as a reward for helping to drive out 
the infidel, that no sacred kine should be killed in 
Hindustan. 

And others besides the King objected to the restric- 
tion. Old Fatma, for instance, Shumsha-deen the seal- 
cutter’s wife, as she swathed her husband’s white beard 
with pounded henna leaves to give it the orthodox red 
dye. 

“ What matters it, woman? ” he replied sternly, but 
with an odd quaver in his voice. “ There is a greater 
sacrifice than the blood of bulls and goats, and that I 
may yet offer this blessed Fed.” 

“ And mayhap, mother,” suggested the widowed, 
childless daughter-in-law, “ a goat will serve our turn 
better than a stirk this year: there will be enough for 
offering, and belike there may be no feasting.” 

The old lady, high-featured, high-tempered, wept pro- 
fusely between her railings at the ill-omened suggestion; 
but the old Turk admitted the possibility with a strained 
wondering look in the eyes which had lost their keenness 
with graving texts. So, as the day passed the women 
helped him faithfully in his bath of purification, and the 
daughter-in-law, having the steadiest hand, put the anti- 
mony into the old man’s eyes as he squatted on a clean 
white cloth stretched in the center of the odd little court- 
yard. She used the stylus she had brought with her to 
the house as a bride, and it woke past memories in the 
old brain, making the black-edged old eyes look at the 
wife of his youth with a wistful tenderness. For it was 
years since a woman had performed the kindly office; 
not since the finery and folly of life had passed into the 
next generation’s hands. But old Fatma thought he 
still looked as handsome as any as he finally stepped into 
the streets in his baggy trousers with one green shawl 
twisted into a voluminous waistband, another into a tur- 
ban, his flaming red beard flowing over his white tunic, 


THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC, 


341 


and a curved scimitar — it was rather difficult to get out 
of its scabbard by reason of rust — at his side. 

“ Lo! here comes old Fatma's Shumsha-deen,” whis- 
pered other women, peeping through other chinks. “ He 
looks well for sure; better by far than Murriam’s Faiz- 
Ahmud for all his new gold shoes! ” 

And those two, daughter and mother-in-law, huddled 
in unaccustomed embrace to see the last of their martyr 
through the only convenient crack, felt a glow of pitiful 
pride before they fell a-weeping and a-praying the old 
pitiful prayer of quarrelers that God would be good to 
His own. 

There were thousands in Delhi about sunsetting on 
the 1st of August praying that prayer, though there were 
hundreds who held aloof, talking learnedly of the House 
of Protection as distinguished from the House of the 
Enemy, as they listened to the evening call to prayer. 
How could there be Holy War, when that had echoed 
freely during the British rule? And Mohammed Ismail, 
listening to their arguments feverishly, knew in his heart 
that they were right. 

But the old Shumsha-deens did not split hairs. So as 
the sun set they went forth in thousands and the gates 
were closed behind them; for they were to conquer or 
die. They were to hurl themselves recklessly on the 
low breastworks which now furrowed the long line of 
hill. Above all, on that which had crept down its side 
to a ruined temple within seven hundred yards of the 
Moree Bastion. 

So, about the rising of the moon, two days from full, 
began such a cannonading and fusillading as was not 
surpassed even on that final day when the Ridge, taking 
similar heart of grace, was to fling itself against the city. 

Major Erlton, off duty but on pleasure in the Saming- 
House breastwork, said to his neighbor that they must 
be mad, as a confused wild rush burst from the Moree 
gate. Six thousand or so of soldiers and Shumsha-deens 
with elephants, camels, field-pieces, distinct in the moon- 
light. And behind them a hail of shell and shot, 
with them a rain of grape and musket-balls. But 


342 ON THE FACE OF THE tVATEES. 

above all the din and rattle could be heard two things: 
The cries of the muezzins from the minarets, chanting 
to the four corners of Earth and Sky that “ Glory is for 
all and Heaven for those who bleed,” and an incessant 
bugling. 

“ It’s that man in front,” remarked Major Erlton. • 
“ Do you think we shall manage, Reid? There’s an 
awful lot of them.” 

Major Reid looked round on his little garrison of 
dark faces; for there was not an Englishman in the post; 
only a hundred quaint squat Ghoorkas, and fifty tall fair 
Guides from the Western frontier. 

“ We’ll do for just now, and I can send for the Rifles 
by and by. There’s to be no pursuit, you know. The 
order’s out. Ought to have been out long agp. Re- 
serve your fire, men, till they come close up.” 

And come dose they did, while Walidad Khan, fierce 
fanatic from Peshawur, and Gorakh-nath, fiercer Bhud- 
dist from Nepal, with fingers on trigger, called on them 
jibingly to come closer still; though twenty yards from 
a breastwork bristling with rifles was surely close 
enough for any? But not for the bugler who led the van, 
sounding assemblies, advances, doubles; anything which 
might stir the hearts behind. 

“ He has got a magnificent pair of bellows,” remarked 
an officer, who, after a time, came down with a hundred 
and fifty of the Rifles to aid that hundred and fifty natives 
in holding the post against six thousand and more of 
their countrymen. 

“ Splendid ! he has been at it this hour or more,” said 
Major Erlton. ” I really think they are mad. They 
don’t seem to aim or to care. There they are again! ” 

It was darker now, and Walidad Khan from Peshawur 
and Gorakh-nath from Nepal, and Bill Atkins from 
Lambeth had to listen for that tootling of assemblies and 
advances to tell them when to fire blindly from the 
embrazures into the smoke and the roar and the rattle. 
So they fell to wondering among themselves if they had 
nicked him that time. Once or twice the silence seemed 
to say they had; but after a bit the tootling began again, 
and a disappointed pair of eyes peeping curiously, reck- 


THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC, 


343 


lessly, would see a dim figure running madly to the 
assault again. 

“Plucky devil!’' muttered Major Erlton as with the 
loan of a rifle he had his try. There was a look of hope 
on dark faces and white alike as they cuddled down to 
the rifle stocks and came up to listen. It was like shoot- 
ing into a herd of does for the one royal head ; and some 
of the sportsmen had tempers. 

“ Shiatdn-ke-hutcha! ” (Child of the devil), muttered 
Walidad Khan, whereat Gorakh-nath grinned from eaf. 
to ear. 

“ Wot cher laughin’ at?” asked Bill Atkins, who had 
been indulging in language of his own. “ A feller can’t 
’it ghosts. An’ ’e’s the piper as played afore Moses; 
that’s what ’ee is.” 

“ Look sharp, men ! ” came the officer’s warning. 
“ There’s a new lot coming on. Wait and let them 
have it.” 

They did. The din was terrific. The incessant 
flashes lighting up the city, showed its roofs crowded 
with the families of absent Shumsha-deens. So High 
Heaven must have been assailed, indeed, that night. 

And even when dawn came it brought no Sabbath 
calm. Only a fresh batch of martyrs. But they had no 
bugler; for with the dawn some fierce frontiersman, 
jesting Cockney, or grinning Ghoorkha may have risked 
his life for a fair shot in daylight at the piper who played 
before Moses. Anyhow, he played no more. Perhaps 
the lack of him, perhaps the torrents of rain which began ' 
to fall as the sun rose, quenched the fires of faith. Any- 
how, by nine o’clock the din was over, the drum eccle- 
siastic ceased to beat, and the English going out to count 
the dead found the bugler lying close to the breastwork, 
his bugle still in his hand; a nameless hero save for that 
passing jest. 

But someone in the city no doubt mourned the piper 
who played before Moses, as they mourned other 
martyrs. More than a thousand of them. 

Yet the Ridge, despite the faith, and fury, and fusillad- 
ing, had only to dig one grave; for fourteen hours of 
what the records call “ unusual intrepidity ” — contemp- 


344 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

tuously coal equivalent for all that faith and fury — had 
only killed one infidel, 

Shumsha-deen’s Fatma, however, was as proud as if 
he had killed a hundred; for he had bled profusely for 
the faith, having been at the very outset of it all kicked 
by a camel and sent flying on to a rock to dream con- 
fused dreams of valor till the bleeding from his nose re- • 
lieved the slight concussion of his brain, and enabled him 
to go home, much shaken, but none the worse. 

But many hundreds of women never saw their Shum- 
sha-deens again, or if they saw them, only saw some- 
thing to weep over and bind in white swaddling clothes 
and gold thread. 

So by dark on the 2d of August the sound of wailing 
women rose from every alley, and the men, wandering 
restlessly about the bazaars, listened to the sound of 
tattoo from the Ridge and looked at each other almost 
startled. 

“ Go-to-bed-Tom! Go-to-bed-Tom! Drunk-or-sober- 
go-to-bed-Tom! ’’ 

The Day of Sacrifice was over, and Tom was going to 
bed quietly as if nothing had happened! They did not 
know that three-quarters of the Toms had been in bed 
the night before, undisturbed by the martyrs’ supreme 
effort. If they had, they might ,have wondered still 
more persistently what Providence was about. 

But in the big mosque, among the great white bars of 
moonlight slanting beneath the dome, one man knew. 
He stood, a tall white figure beneath a furled green ban- 
ner, his arms outspread, his voice rising in fierce denun- 
ciation. 

“ Cursed * be they who did the deed, who killed jehad! 
Lo! I told you in my dream in the past and ye would 
not believe. I tell it again that ye may know. It was 
dawn. And the Lord Christ and the Lord Mohammed 
sat over the World striving each for His own according 
to the Will of the Most High who sets men’s quarrels 
before the Saints in Heaven. A commander to each. 
And I saw the Lord Christ weep, knowing that justice 


From a contemporaneous account. 


THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 


345 


was on our side. So the fiat for victory went forth, and 
I slept. But I dreamed again and lo! it was eve with a 
blood-red sunsetting westward. And the Lord Christ 
wept still, but the Lord Mohammed’s voice rang loud 
and stern. ‘ Reverse the fiat. Give the victory to the 
women and the children.’ So I woke. And it is true! 
is true ! Cursed be they who killed jehad I ” 

The voice died away among the arches where, in deli- 
cate tracery, the attributes of the Great Creator were cut 
into changeless marble. Truth, Justice, Mercy, all the 
virtues from which all religions make their God. 

“ He is mad,” said some ; but for the most part men 
were silent as they drifted down the great Flights-of- 
Steps to the city, leaving Mohammed Ismail alone under 
the dome. 

'‘Didst expect otherwise, my Queen?” said Bukht 
Khan hardily. “ So did not I ! But the end is gained. 
Delhi was not ours in heart and soul before. It is now. 
When the assault comes those who fought for faith will 
fight for their skins. And at the worst there is Lucknow 
for good Sheeahs like the Queen and her slave. We 
have no tie here among these Sunnies who think only of 
their hoards.” 

Zeenut Maihl shrank from him with her first touch of 
fear, for she had eight or nine lakhs of rupees hidden in 
that very house. This man whom she had summoned 
to her aid bid fair to make flight necessary even for a 
woman. Had she ventured too much? Was there yet 
time to throw him over, throw everyone over and make 
her peace? She turned instinctively in her thoughts to 
one who loved money also, who also had hoards to save. 
And so, within half an hour of Bukht Khan’s departure, 
Ahsan-Oolah was closeted with the Queen, who after the 
excitement of the day needed a cooling draught. 

Most people in the Palace needed one that night, for 
by this time almost all the possible permutations of con- 
federacy had come about, with the result that — each 
combination’s intrigue being known to- the next — a 
general distrust had fallen upon all. In addition, there 
was now a fourth Commander-in-Chief ; one Ghaus 
Khan, from Neemuch, who declared the rest were fools. 


34 ^ ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

In truth the Dream was wearing thin indeed within 
the Palace. 

But on that peaceful little housetop in the Mufti’s quar- 
ter it seemed more profound than ever; it seemed as if 
Fate was determined to leave nothing wanting to the 
strange unreal life that was being lived in the very heart 
of the city. Jim Douglas was almost himself again. A 
little lame, a little uncertain still of his own strength; 
and so, remembering a piece of advice given him by the 
old Baharupa never to attempt using the Gift when he 
was not strong enough for it to be strong, he had been 
patient beyond Kate’s hopes. But on this 2d of August, 
after lying awake all night listening to the roar and the 
din, he had insisted on going out when Soma did not 
turn up as usual to bring the news. He would not be 
long, he said, not more than an hour or two, and the 
attempt must be made some time. At no better one 
than now, perchance, since folk would be occupied in 
their own affairs. 

“ Besides,” he added with a smile, “ I’m ready to allow 
the convalescent home its due. While I’ve been kept 
quiet the very thought of concealed Europeans has died 
out.” 

“I don’t know!” she interrupted quickly. “It isn’t 
long since Prince Abool-Bukr chased that blue-eyed boy 
of the Mufti’s over the roofs — don’t you remember I was 
so afraid he might climb up here? ” 

“ That’s the advantage of being up-top,” he replied 
lightly. “ Now, if anything were to happen, you could 
scramble down. But the Prince was drunk, and I won’t 
go near his haunts — there isn’t any danger — really there 
isn’t! ” 

“ I shall have to get accustomed to it even if there is,” 
she replied in the same tone. 

Jim Douglas paused at the door irresolutely. “ Shall 
I wait till Tara returns? ” 

“ No, please don’t. She is not coming back till late. 
She grows restless if she does not go — and I am all 
right.” 

In truth Tara had been growing restless of late. 
Kate, looking up from the game of chess — at whiclf her 


THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 


347 


convalescent gave her half the pieces on the board and 
then beat her easily — used to find those dark eyes watch- 
ing them furtively. Zora. Begum had never played 
shatrinj with the master, had never read with him from 
books, had never treated him as an equal. And, 
strangely enough, the familiar companionship — inevit- 
able under the circumstances — roused her jealousy more 
than the love-making on that other terraced roof had 
done. That she understood. That she could crush with 
her cry of suttee. But this — this which to her real devo- 
tion seemed so utterly desirable; what did it mean? So 
she , crept away, when she could, to take up the saintly 
role as the only certain solace she knew for the ache in 
her heart. 

Therefore Kate sat alone, darning Jim Douglas’ white 
socks — which as a better-class Afghan he was bound to 
wear — and thinking as she did so how incredibly domes- 
tic a task it was ! Still socks had to be darned, and with 
Tara at hand to buy odds and ends, and Soma with his 
knowledge of the Huzoor’s life ready to bring chess- 
boards, and soap, and even a book or two, it seemed as if 
the roof would soon be a very fair imitation of home. 
So she sat peacefully till, about dusk, hearing a footfall 
on the stairs halting with long pauses between the steps, 
her vexation at her patient’s evident fatigue overcame 
her usual caution; and without waiting for his signal 
knock she set the door wide and stepped out on to the 
stairs to give him a hand if need be. And then out of 
the shadow of the narrpw brick ladder came a strange 
voice panting breathlessly: 

“Salaam! mem-sahib.” She started back, but not in 
time to prevent a bent figure with a bundle on its back 
from stumbling past her on to the roof; where, as if ex- 
hausted, it leaned against the wall before slipping the 
bundle to the floor. It was an ordinary brown blanket 
bundle full of uncarded cotton, and the old woman who 
carried it was ragged and feeble. Emaciated too beyond 
belief, as if cotton-spinning had not been able to keep 
soul and body comfortably together. Not a very for- 
midable foe this— if foe it was. Why! surely she knew 
the face. 


348 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


“ I have brought Sonny back, Huzoor,” came the 
breathless voice. 

Sonny! Kate Erlton gave a little cry. She recol- 
lected now. Oh, ayah! ” she began recklessly, “ what? 
where is he? ” 

The old woman stumbled to the door, closed the catch, 
and then leaned exhausted upon the lintel, sinking down 
slowly to a squatting position, her hand upon her heart. 
There was more in this than the fatigue of the stairs, 
Kate recognized. 

‘‘He is in the bundle, Huzoor. The mem did not 
know me. She will know the baba.” 

Know him! As her almost incredulous fingers 
fumbled at the knots, her mind was busy with an ador- 
able vision of white embroideries, golden curls, and 
kissable, dimpled milk and roses. So it was no wonder 
that she recoiled from the ragged shift and dark skin, 
the black close-cropped hair shaved horribly into a wide 
gangway from nape to forehead. 

“ Oh, ayah ! ” she cried reproachfully, “ what have 
you done to Sonny baba! ” for Sonny it was unmistak- 
ably in the guise of a street urchin. A foolish remark 
to make, doubtless, but the old Mai, most of whose life 
had been passed in the curling of golden curls, the prink- 
ing of mother’s darlings, did not think it strange. She 
looked wistfully at her charge, then at Kate apolo- 
getically. 

“ It was safer, Huzoor. And at least he is fat and 
fresh. I gave him milk and chikken-brdt.* And it was 
but a tiny morsel of opium just to make him quiet in the 
bundle.” 

Something in the quavering old voice made Kate 
cross quickly to the old woman and kneel beside her. 

“ You have done splendidly, ayah, no one could have 
done better! ” 

But the interest had died from the haggard face. 
“ They said folk would be damned for it,” she muttered 
half to herself, “ but what could I do? The mem, my 
mem, said ‘ Take care of the boy.’ So I gave him 
chikkm-brdt and milk.” She paused, then looked up at 

* Chicken broth, 


THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 


349 


Kate slowly. “ But I can grind and spin no more, 
Huzoor. My life is done. So I have brought him 
here — and she paused again for breath. 

“ How did you find me out? ” asked Kate, longing to 
give the old woman some restorative, yet not daring 
to offer it, for she was a Mussulmani. 

The old Mai reached out a skeleton of a hand, half- 
mechanically, to flick away a fluff of cotton wool from 
the still sleeping child’s face. “ It was the chikken- 
brat, Huzoor. The Huzoor will remember the old mess 
khansaman? He did the pagul khanas [picnics] and 
nautches for the sahib logue. A big man with gold lace 
who made the cake at Christmas for the babas and set 
fire to plum-puddeens as no other khansaman did. And 
made estarRt turkeys and sassets [stuffed turkey and 

sausages] — and ” She seemed afloat on a Bagh-o- 

bahar list of comestibles, a dream of days when, as ayah, 
she had watched many a big dinner go from the cook 
room. 

“ But about the chikken-brdt, ayah?” asked Kate with 
a lump in her throat; for the wasted figure babbling of 
old days was evidently close on death. 

, “ Huzoor! Mungul Khan keeps life in him, these 
hard times, with the selling of eggs and fowls. So he, 
knowing me, said there was more chikken-brdt than 
mine being made in the quarter. The Huzoor need have 
no fear. Mungul weeps every day and prays the sahibs 
may return, because his last month’s account was not 
paid. A sweeper woman, he said, bought ' halflings ’ 
for an Afghan’s bibi. As if an Afghani would use three 
halflings in one day! No one but a mem making 
chikken-brdt would do that. So I watched and made 
sure, against this day; for I was old, and I had not spun 
or ground for long.” 

You should have come before,” said Kate gently. 

You have worn yourself out.” 

The old woman stumbled to her feet. My life was 
worn before, Huzoor. I am very old. I have put many 
boy-babies into the mem’s arms to make them forget 
their pain, and taken them from them to put the flowers 
round them when they were dead. He wa? safer with 


550 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

me speaking our language; with you he may remember. 
But I shall be dead, so I can do no more.” 

“ Wait, do wait till the sahib returns,” pleaded Kate. 

The Mai paused, her hand on the latch. What have 
I to do with the sahibs, Huzoor? Mine were not much 
count. They made my mems cry, or laugh; cry first, 
then laugh. It is bad for mems. But my mem did 
not care, she only cared for the babies and so there was 
always a flower for the grave. Matadeen, the gardener, 
made it and the big Huzoor — Erlton sahib ” 

She ceased suddenly and went mumbling down the 
stairs leaving Kate to close the door again and drop on 
her knees beside the sleeping child. Was he sleeping 
or had the opium— — ? She gave a sigh of relief as — her 
hair tickling his cheek as she bent to listen — up came a 
chubby unconscious hand to brush the tickle away. 

Sonny! It seemed incredible. The house would be 
a home indeed with his sweet “ Mifis Erlton ” echoing 
through it. No! what the old Mai had said was true. 
There would be danger in English prattle. She must 
not tell him who she was. He must be kept as safe as 
that other child over across the seas whose empty place 
this one had partly filled; that other child who in all 
these storms and stress was, thank Heaven! so safe. 
She must deny herself that pleasure, and be content with 
this terribly disguised Sonny. Then she wondered if 
the dye came off as hers did; so with wet finger began 
trying the experiment on the child’s cheek. A little; 
but perhaps soap and warm water might She gath- 

ered Sonny in her arms and went over to the cooking- 
place. And there, to her unreasoning delight, after a 
space, was a square inch or so of milk and roses. R was 
trivial, of course; Mr. <jreyman would say womanish, 
but she should like to see the real Sonny just once! She 
could dye him again. So, with the sleeping child on her 
lap, she began soft dabbings and wipings on the forehead 
and cheeks. It was a fascinating task and she forgot 
everything else ; till, as she began work on the nose, what 
with the tickling and the tepid bathings dispelling the 
opium drowsiness. Sonny woke, and finding himself in 
Strange arms began to scream horribly. And there she 


THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC 


35 1 

was forgetful of caution among other things, kissing and 
cuddling the frightened child, asking him if he didn't 
know her and telling him he was a good little Sonnikins 
whom nobody in the world would hurt! At which 
juncture, with brain started in a new-old groove, he said 
amid lingering sobs: 

Oh, Mifis Erlton! What has a-come of my polly?’^ 

She recognized her slip in a second; but it was too 
late. And hark! Steps on the stair, and Sonny prat- 
tling on in his high, clear lisp! Not one step, but two; 
and voices. A visitor no doubt. Sometimes, to avoid 
suspicion, it was necessary to bring them in. She knew 
the routine. The modest claim for seclusion to her 
supposed husband in Pe.rsian, the leaving of the door on 
the latch, the swift retreat into the inner roof during the 
interval decorously allowed for such escape. All this 
was easy without Sonny. The only chance now was to 
stop his prattle even by force, giver the excuse that other 
women were within, and trust to a man’s quickness 
outside. 

Vain hope! Sonny wriggled like an eel, and, just as 
the expected knock came, evaded her silencing hand, so 
that the roof rang with outraged yells : 

“ Oh! ’oo’s hurtin’ me! Go’s hurtin’ me! ” 

Without the words even, the sound was unmistakable. 
No native child was ever so ear-piercing, so wildly indig- 
nant. Kate, beside herself, tried soothings and force 
distractedly, in the midst of which an imperative voice 
called fiercely: 

“Open the door quick, for God’s sake! Anything’s 
better than that.” 

For the moment, doubtless. Sonny’s yells ending with 
victory; but another cry came sharp and short, as- — the 
door giving under Kate’s hasty fingers — ^two men 
tumbled over the threshold. Jim Douglas uppermost, 
his hands gripping the other’s throat. 

“ Shut the door! ” he gasped. “ Lock it. Then my 
revolver — no — a knife — no noise — quick. I can’t hold — 
the brute long.” 

Kate turned and ran mechanically, and the steel in her 
hand gleamed as she flew back. Jim Douglas, digging 


35 ^ ON' THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

his knees into the ribs below them, loosened one hand 
cautiously from the throat and held it out, trembling, 
eager. 

But Kate saw his face. It might have been the Gor- 
gon’s, for she stood as if turned to stone. 

“ Don’t be a fool! ” he panted — “ give it me! It’s the 

only ” A sudden twist beneath him sent his hand 

back to the throat. “ It’s — it’s death anyway ” 

Death! What did that matter? she asked herself. 
Let it come, rather than murder! 

“ No! ” she said suddenly, “ you shall not. It is not 
worth it.” The knife, flung backward, fell with a clang, 
but the eyes which — though that choking grip on the 
throat made all things dim — had been fixed on its gleam, 
turned swiftly to those above them and the writhing body 
lay still as a corpse. None too soon, for Jim Douglas 
was almost spent. 

“ A rope,” he muttered briefly, “ or stay, your veil will 
do.” 

But Kate, trembling with the great passion and pity of 
her decision, had scarce removed it ere Jim Douglas, 
changing his mind, rose to his feet, leaving his antago- 
nist free to do so likewise. 

“ Get up, Tiddu,” he said breathlessly, “ and thank the 
mem for saving your life. But the door’s locked^ and if 
you don’t swear ” 

“ The Huzoor need not threaten,” retorted Tiddu, far 
more calmly as he retwisted his rag of a turban. “ The 
Many-Faced know gratitude. They do not fall on those 
who find them helpless and protect them.” 

The thrust was keen, for in truth the old Baharupa 
had, not half an hour before, by sheer chance found his 
pupil in difficulties and insisted on seeing him safe home, 
and on his promising not to go out again till he was 
stronger; to both of which coercions Jim Douglas, in 
order to evade suspicion, had consented. Yet, but for 
Kate, he would have knifed the old man remorselessly. 
Even now he felt doubtful. 

Tiddu, however, saved him further anxiety by stepping 
close to Kate and salaaming theatrically. 

“ By Murri-am and the neem, the mem is as my 
mother, the child as my child.” 


THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 


353 


So, for the first time, both he and Jim Douglas looked 
toward Sonny, who, with wide-planted legs and wonder- 
ing eyes, had been watching Tiddu solemnly; the 
quaintest little figure with his red and white cheeks and 
black muzzle. 

The old mime burst into a guffaw. “ Wahl what a 
monkeyling! Wdhi whst a tamdsha” (spectacle), he 
cried, squatting down on his heels to look closer. In 
truth Sonny was like a hill baboon, especially when he 
smiled too; broadly, expectantly, at the familiar word. 

“ Tamathd-wallah! ” he said superbly, “ hunao ramdtha, 
juldi bunao! ” (Make an amusement; make it quick.) 

Tiddu, a child himself like all his race in his delight in 
children, a child also in his capacity of sudden serenity, 
caught up Kate’s fallen veil, and in an instant dashed 
into the hackneyed part of the daughter-in-law, while 
Kate and Jim Douglas stared; left behind, as it were, by 
this strange irresponsible pair — the mimic of life, and the 
child ignorant of what was mimicked. Tragedy a min- 
ute ago! Now Farce! They looked at each other, 
startled, for sympathy. 

“ Make a funny man now,” came Sonny’s confident 
voice, “ a funny man behind a curtain — a funny man — 
wif a gween face an’ a white face, an’ a lot of fwowers an’ 
a bit o’ tring.” 

Tiddu looked round quickly at Jim Douglas. “ Wdh! ” 
he said, “ the little Huzoor has a good memory. He 
remembers the Lord of Life and Death.” 

But Kate had remembered it too, and she also had 
turned to Jim Douglas passionately, almost accusingly. 
“ It was you! You were Fate — you Ah! I under- 
stand now!” 

“Do you?” he answered with a frown. “Then it’s 
more than I do.” He walked away moodily toward the 
knife Kate had flung away, and stooped to pick it up. 
“ But you were right in what you did. It was an inspira- 
tion. Look there!” 

He pointed to the old Baharupa, who was playing 
antics to amuse Sonny, who lisped, “ Thd bdth! ” 
(bravo!) solemnly at each fresh effort. But Kate 
shivered. “ I did nothing. I thought I did; but it was 
Fate.” 


354 


ON- THE PACE OP THE WATEkS. 


“ My dear lady/’ he retorted with a kindly smile, k 
is all in the nature of dreams. The convalescent home 
is turned into a creche. But we must transfigure the 

street urchin into the darling of his parents’ hearts ” 

He paused and looked at Kate queerly. “ I’ll tell Tara 
to rig him out properly; and you must take off half the 
stain, you know, and leave some color on his cheeks; 

for he must play the part as well as ” He laughed 

suddenly. “ It is really more dream-like than ever! ” he 
added. And Kate thought so too. 


CHAPTER VI. 

vox HUMANA. 

The five days following on the 2d of August were a 
time of festivity for the Camp, a time of funerals for the 
City. There was a break in the rains, and on the Ridge 
the sunshine fell in floods upon the fresh green grass, 
and the air, bright and cool, set men’s minds toward mak- 
ing the best of Nature’s kindness; for she had been kind, 
indeed, to the faithful little ‘colony, and few even of the 
seniors could remember a season so favorable in every 
way. And so the messes talked of games, of races; and 
men, fresh from seeing their fellows killed by balls on one 
side of the Ridge, joined those who, on the other side, 
were crying “Well bowled!” as wickets went down be- 
fore other balls. 

But in the city the unswept alleys fermented and fes- 
tered in the vapors and odors which rose from the great 
mass of humanity pent within the rose-red walls. For. 
‘the gates had been closed strictly save for those with per- 
mits to come and go. This was Bukht Khan’s policy. 
Delhi was to stand or fall as one man. There was to be 
no sneaking away while yet there was time. So hun- 
dreds of sepoys protesting illness, hunger, urgent private 
affairs — every possible excuse for getting leave — were 
told that if they would not fight they could sulk. Starve 
they might, stay they should. The other Commanders- 


vox HUMANA, 


355 


in-Chief, it is true, spent money in bribing mercenaries 
for one week’s more fighting; but Bukht Khan only 
smiled sardonically. He had tried bugles and fifes, he 
had tried the drum-ecclesiastic; he was now trying his 
last stop. The vox hiimana of self-preservation. 

In the city itself, however, the preservation of life took 
for the present another form, and never within the 
memory of man had there been such a pounding of pes- 
tles and mortars over leaf-poultices. The sound of it 
rose up at dawn and eve like the sound of the querns, 
mingling with the vox humana of grief as the eastern and 
southern gates were set wide to let the dead pass out, and 
allow the stores for the living to pass in. 

It formed a background to the gossip at ‘the wells 
where the women met to draw water, 

“ Faiz-Ahmed found freedom at dawn,” said one be- 
tween her yawiis. “ He was long in the throes. The 
bibis made a great wailing, so I could not even sleep 
since then. There are no sons, see you, and no money 
now the old man’s annuity is gone.” 

“ Loh, sister! ” retorted another, “thou speakest as if 
death were a morsel of news to let dissolve on the tongue. 
There be plenty such soppets in Delhi, and if I know 
aught of wounds there will be another at nightfall. My 
mistress wastes time in the pounding of simples, and I 
waste time in waiting for them till my turn comes at the 
shop; for if it be not gangrened, I have no eyes.” The 
speaker jerked her pot to her shoulder deftly and passed 
down the alley. 

“ Juntu is wise in such matters,” said a worn-looking 
woman with sad eyes; “ I must get her to glance at my 
man’s cut. ’Tis right to my mind — he will put naught 
but water to it, after some foreign fashion — but who can 
tell these times? ” 

“ Save that none pass their day, sister. Death will 
come of the Great Sickness, or the wound, as it chooses,” 
put in a half-starved soul who had to carry a baby besides 
her pot. “ The cholera rages in our alley. ’Tis the 
smell. None sweep the streets or flush the gutters now.” 

“ Ari, Fukra! ” cried a fierce virago, “ thou art a traitor 
at heart! She bewails the pig-eating infidels who gave 


356 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


her man five rupees a month to bring water to the drains. 
Ai teri! If they saved one life from good cholera, have 
they not reft a hundred in exchange from widows and 
orphans? Oo-ai-ie-ee ! 

Her howling wail, like a jackal’s, was caught up whim- 
peringly by the others; and so they passed on with their 
water pots, to spread through the city the tale of Faiz- 
Ahmed’s freedom, Juntu’s suspicions of gangrene, and 
Karuna the butcher’s big wife’s retort. And, in the even- 
ing, folk gathered at the gates, and talked over it all 
again as the funerals passed out; old Faiz- Ahmed, in his 
new gold shoes, looking better as a corpse, tied up in tin- 
sel, than as a martyr, so the spectators agreed. Whereat 
his family had their glow of pride also. 

Then, when the show was over, the crowd dispersed 
to pay visits of condolence, and raise the wailing vox 
humana in every alley. 

Greatly to Jim Douglas’ relief, for there was another 
voice difficult to keep quiet when the cool evenings came, 
and all Kate’s replies in Hindustani would not beguile 
Sonny’s tongue from English. He was the quaintest 
mother’s darling now, in a little tinsel cap fringed with 
brown silk tassels hiding that dreadful gangway, anklets, 
and bracelets on his bare corn-colored limbs, the ruddy 
color showing through the dye on his cheeks, his palms 
all henna-stained, his eyes blackened with kohl, and a 
variety of little tinsel and brocaded cootees ending far 
above his dimpled knees. There were little muslin and 
net ones too, cunningly streaked with silver and gold, 
for Tara was reckless over the boy. She insisted, too, 
on a great black smudge on his forehead to keep away the 
evil eye; and Soma, coming now with the greatest regu- 
larity, brought odd little coral and grass necklets such 
as Rajpoot bairns ought to wear; while Tiddu, the 
child’s great favorite, had a new toy every day for the 
little Huzoor. Paper whirligigs, cotton-wool bears on 
a stick, mud parrots, and such like, whereat Sonny would 
Jisp, “ Thd bath, Tiddu.” Though sometimes he would 
go over to Kate and ask appealingly, Miffis _Erlton ! 
What has a-come of my polly?” 

Then she, startled into realities by the words, would 


vox HUMANA, 


357 


catch him up in her arms, and look around as if for pro- 
tection to Jim Douglas, who, having overdone himself 
in the struggle with Tiddu, had felt it wiser to defer fur- 
ther action for a day or two. The more so because Tiddu 
had promised to help him to the uttermost if he would 
only be reasonable and leave times and seasons to one 
who had ten times the choice that he had. 

So he would smile back at Kate and say, It’s all 
right, Mrs. Erlton. At least as right as it can be. The 
lot of them are devoted to the child.” 

Yet in his heart he knew that there was danger in so 
many confederates. He felt that this incredibly peaceful 
home on the housetop could not last. Here he was look- 
ing at a woman who was not his wife, a child who was not 
his child, and feeling vaguely that they were as much a 
part of his life as if they were. As if, had they been 
so, he would have been quite contented. More contented 
than he had been on that other roof. He was, even now, 
more contented than he had been there. As he sat, his 
head on his hand, watching the pretty picture which Kate, 
in Zora’s jewels, made with the be-tinseled, be-scented, 
bedecked child, he thought of his relief when years before 
he had looked at a still little morsel lying in Zora’s veil. 
Had it been brutal of him? Would that dead baby have 
grown into a Sonny? Or was it because Sonny’s skin 
was really white beneath the stain that he thought of him 
as something to be proud of possessing; of a boy who 
would go to school and be fagged and flogged and inherit 
familiar virtues and vices instead of strange ones? 

“ What are you thinking of, Mr. Greyman? Do you 
want anything? ” came Kate’s kind voice. 

Nothing,” he replied in the half-bantering tone he so 
often used toward her; “ I have more than my fair share 
of things already, surely! I was only meditating on the 
word ‘ Om ’ — the final mystery of all things.” 

So, in a way, he was. On the mystery of fatherhood 
and motherhood, which had nothing to do with that pure 
idyl of romantic passion on the terraced roof at Lucknow, 
yet which seemed to touch him here, where there was not 
even love. Yet it was a better thing. The passion of 
protection, of absolute self-forgetfulness, seeking no re- 


3S8 av THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

ward, which the sight of those two raised in him, was a 
better thing than that absorption in another self. The 
thought made him cross over to where Kate sat with the 
child in her lap, and say gravely: 

“ The crkhe is more interesting than the convales- 
cent home, at least to me, Mrs. Erlton ! I shall be quite 
sorry when it ends.*’ 

‘‘ When it ends ? ” she echoed quickly. There is noth- 
ing wrong, is there? Sonny has been so good, and that 
time .when he was naughty the sweeper-woman seemed 
quite satisfied when Tara said he was speaking Pushtoo.” 

But it cannot last for all that,” he replied. “ It is 
dangerous. I feel it is. This is the 5th, and I am nearly 
all right. I must get Tiddu to arrange for Sonny first. 
Then for you.” 

“ And you? ” she asked. 

ril follow. It will be safer, and there is no fear for 
me. I can’t understand why I’ve had no answer from 
your husband. The letter went two days ago, and I am 
convinced we ought.” 

The frown was back on his face, the restlessness in his 
brain; and both grew when in private talk with Tiddu 
the latter hinted at suspicions in the caravan which had 
made it necessary for him to be very cautious. The let- 
ter, therefore, had certainly been delayed, might never 
have reached. If no answer came by the morrow, he 
himself would take the opportunity of a portion of the 
caravan having a permit to pass out, and so insure the 
news reaching the Ridge; trusting to get into the city 
again without delay, though the gates were very strictly 
kept. Nevertheless, in his opinion, the Huzoor would 
be wiser with patience. There was no immediate danger 
in continuing as they were, and the end could not be 
long if it were true that the great Nikalse}^ was with 
the Punjab reinforcements. ' Since all the world knew 
that Nikalseyn was the prince of sahibs, having the gift, 
not only of bein^ all things to all people, but of making 
all people be all things to him, which was more than the 
Baharupas could do. 

In truth, the news that John Nicholson was coming to 
Delhi made e^^en Jim Dcniglas hesitate at risking any- 


P^OX HUMANA. 


350 


thing unnecessarily, so long as things went smoothly. 
As for the letter to Major Erlton, it was no doubt true 
that the number of spies sending information to the 
Ridge had made it difficult of late to send any, since the 
guards were on the alert 

It was, indeed, even for the Queen herself,, who had a 
missive she was peculiarly anxious should not fall into 
strange hands. 

“ There is no fear. Ornament of Palaces,” said Ahsan- 
Oolah urbanely; “ I will stake my life on its reaching.” 
He did not add that his chief reason for saying so was 
that a similar letter, written by the King, had been safely 
delivered by Rujjub Ali, the spy, whose house lay conven- 
iently near the physician’s own, and from whom both the 
latter and Elahi-Buksh heard authentic news from the 
Ridge. News which made them both pity the poor old 
pantaloon who, as they knew well, had been a mere pup- 
pet in stronger hands. And these two, laying their heads 
together, in one of those kaleidoscope combinations of in- 
trigue which made Delhi politics a puzzle even at the time, 
advised the King to use the vox celeste as an antidote to the 
vox huniana of the city, which was being so diligently fos- 
tered by the Queen and Bukht Khan. Let him say he 
was too old for this world, let him profess himself unable 
longer to cope with his coercers and claim to be allowed 
to resign and become a fakir! But the dream still lin- 
gered in the old man’s brain. He loved the brocaded 
bags, he loved the new cushion of the Peacock throne; 
and though the cockatoo’s crest was once more showing 
a yellow tinge through the green, the thought of jehad 
lingered sanctimoniously. But other folk in the Palace 
were beginning to awake. Other people in Delhi besides 
Tiddu had heard that Nikalseyn was on his way from the 
Punjab and not even the rose-red walls had been able to 
keep out his reputation. Folk talked of him in whispers. 
The soldiers, unable to retreat, unwilling to fight, swore 
loudly that they were betrayed ; that there were too many 
spies in the city. Of that there could be no doubt. 
Were not letters found concealed in innocent looking 
cakes and such like? Had not one, vaguely suggesting 
that some cursed infidels were still concealed in the city^ 


^66 OM TtiE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

been brought in for reward by a Bunjarah who swore he 
had picked it up by ’ chance? The tales grew by the 
telling in the Thunbi Bazaar, making Prince Abool-Bukr, 
who had returned to it incontinently after the disastrous 
failure of faith on the 2d, hiccough magnificently that, 
poor as he was, he would give ten golden mohurs to any- 
one who would set him on the track of a hell-doomed. 
Yea! folk might laugh, but he was good for ten still. 
Ay ! and a rupee besides, to have the offer cried through 
the bazaar; so there would be an end to scoffers! 

“What is’t?” asked the languid loungers in the 
wooden balconies, as the drum came beating down the 
street. 

“ Only Abool offering ten mohurs for a Christian to 
kill,’' said one. 

“ And he swore he had not a rupee when I danced for 
him but yesterday,” said another. 

“ He has to pay Newasi, sister,” yawned a third. 

“Then let her dance for him — I do it no longer,” re- 
torted the grumbler. 

So the crier and his drums passed down the scoffing 
bazaar. “ He will find many at that price,” quoth some, 
winking at their neighbors; for the Prince was a butt 
when in his cups. 

Thus at earliest dawn next morning, the 7th of August, 
Tiddu gave a signal knock at the door of the roof, rousing 
Jim Douglas who, since the child’s arri'i^al, had taken to 
sleeping across it once more. 

“ There is danger in the air, Huzoor,” he said briefly; 
“ they cried a reward for the infidels in the bazaar yester- 
day. There is talk of some letter.” 

“ The child must go — go at once,” replied his hearer, 
alert in an instant; but Tiddu shook his head. 

“ Not till dark, Huzoor. The bullocks are to pass out 
with the moon, and he must pass out with them. In a 
sack, Huzoor. Say nothing till the last. Then, the 
Huzoor knows the cloth merchant’s by the Delhi gate? ” 

Jim Douglas nodded. 

“ There is a court at the back. The bullocks are there> 
for we are taking cloth the Lala wants to smuggle out. 
A length or two in each empty sack; for he hath been 


vox HUMANA. 


361 


looted beyond limits. So he will have no eyes, nor the 
caravan either, for secret work in dark corners. Bring 
the boy drugged as he came here, the Rajpootni will 
carry the bundle as a spinner, to the third door down the 
lane. “ ’Tis an empty yard; I will have the bullock there 
with the half-load of raw cotton. We have two or three 
more as foils to the empty bags. Come as a Bunjarah, 
then the Huzoor can see the last of the child, and see old 
Tiddu's loyalty.” 

The familiar whine came back to his voice; he could 
scarcely resist a thrust forward of his open hand. But 
dignity or no dignity, Jim Douglas knew that itching 
palm well, and said significantly: 

“ It will be worth a thousand rupees to you, Tiddu, 
if the child gets safe.” 

A look of offended virtue came over the smooth face. 

‘‘This -slave is not thinking of money. The child is 
as his own child.” 

“ And the mem as your mother, remember,” put in 
the other quickly. 

Tiddu hesitated. “ If his servant saves the baba, can- 
not the master save the lady? ” he said with the effrontery 
of a child trying how far he might go; but Jim Douglas’ 
revolver was out in a second, and Tiddu, with an air of 
injured innocence, went on without a pause: 

“ The mem will be safe enough, Huzoor, when the 
child is gone, if the Huzoor will himself remain day and 
night to answer for the screened, sick woman within. 
His slave will be back by dawn ; and if he smells trouble, 
the mem must be moved in a dhoolie to another house, 
the Rajpootni must go home, and I will be mother-in- 
law. I can play the part, Huzoor.” 

He could indeed! If Kate were to be safe anywhere^ 
it would be with this old scoundrel with his thousand- 
faces, his undoubted gift for influencing the eyes of men. 
Three days of passing from one place to another, with 
him in some new character, and their traces must be lost; 
A good plan certainly! 

“ And there is no danger to-day? ” he asked finally. 

Tiddu paused again, and his luminous eyes sought the 
sahib’s. “ Who can say, that, Huzoor, for a mem, in this 


362 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

city. But I think none. We can do no more, danger 
or not. And I will watch. And see, here is the dream- 
giver. The Rajpootni will know the dose for the child.” 

The dream-giver! All that day the little screw of 
paper Tiddu had taken from his waistbelt lay in a fold 
of Jim Douglas’ high-twined pugri, and its contents 
seemed to make him dull. Not that it mattered, since 
there was literally nothing to be done before dusk; for 
it would be cruel to tell Kate and keep her on tenter- 
hooks all day to no purpose. But after a while she 
noticed his dullness, and came over to where he sat, his 
head on his hand, in his favorite attitude. 

“ I believe you are going to have fever and ague 
again,” she said solicitously; “do take some aconite; if 
we could only get some quinine, that would end the tire- 
some thing at once.” 

He took some to please her, and because her sugges- 
tion gave him a reasonable excuse for being slack ; but as 
he lounged about lazily, watching her playing with the 
boy, seeing her put him to sleep as the heat of the day 
came on, noting the cheerful content with which she 
adapted herself to a simplicity of life unknown to her 
three months before, the wonder of the circumstances 
which had led to it faded in the regret that it should be 
coming to an end. It had been thr^® months of incredi- 
ble peace and good-will ; and to-day the peace and good- 
will seemed to strike him all the more keenly because he 
knew that in an hour oi^so at most he must disturb it. 
It seemed hard. 

But something else began the task for him. About 
sunset a sudden flash dazzled his eyes, and ere he grasped 
its vividness the walls were rocking silently, and a second 
after a roar as of a thousand thunder-claps deafened his 
ears. Kate had Sonny in her arms ere he could reach 
her, thrusting her away from the high parapet wall, 
which, in one already cracked corner, looked as if it must 
come down; which did indeed crumble outward, leaving 
^ js-gged gap halfway down its height, the debris falling 
with a rattle on the roof of the next house. 

But ere the noise ended the vibration had passed, leav- 


yOX HUMANA. 


363 


ing him with relief on his face looking at a great mush- 
room of smoke and steam which had shot up into the sky. 

It’s the powder factory! ” he exclaimed, using Hindu- 
stani for Tara’s benefit as well, since she had rushed in 
from the outer court at the first hint of danger to cling 
round his feet. “It is all over now, but it’s lucky we 
were no nearer.” 

As he spoke he was wondering if this would make any 
difference in Tiddu’s plans for the night, since the powder 
factory had stood equa-distant between them and the 
Delhi gate. He wondered also what had caused the ex- 
plosion. Not a shell certainly. The factory had pur- 
posely been placed at the furthest point from the Ridge. 
However, there was a fine supply of powder gone, and, 
he hoped, a few mutineers. But Kate’s mind had re- 
verted to that other explosion which had been the pro- 
logue to the three months of peace and quiet. Was this 
one to be the epilogue? A vague dread, a sudden pre- 
monition made her ask quickly : 

“ Can it mean anything serious? Can anything be 
the matter, Mr. Greyman? Is anything wrong?” 

It was a trifle early, he thought. She might have had 
another half hour or so. But this was a good beginning, 
or rather a fitting end. 

“ And you have known this all day? ” she said re- 
proachfully when he told her the truth. “ How unkind 
of you not to tell me 1 ” 

“Unkind!” he echoed. “ ^hat possible good ” 

“ I should have known it was the last day — I — I should 
have made the — the most of it.” 

He felt glad of his own impatience of the sentimentality 
as he turned away, for in truth the look on her face hit 
him hard. It sent him to pace up and down the outer 
roof resting till the time for action came. Then he had a 
whispered consultation with Tara regarding the dose of 
raw opium safe for a child of Sonny’s years. 

“Are you sure that is not too much?” he asked 
anxiously. 

Tara looked at the little black pellet she was rolling 
gravely. “ It is large, Huzoor, but it is for life or death; 


3^4 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

and if it was the Huzoar’s own son I would give no 
less.” 

Once more the remembrance of the still little morsel 
in Zora’s tinsel veil brought an odd compunction; the 
very possibility of this strange child’s death roused 
greater pain than that certainty had done. He felt un- 
nerved at the responsibility; but Kate, looking up as he 
rejoined her, held out her hand without a tremor. 

“ Give it me, please,” she said, and her voice was 
steady also ; “ he will take it best from me. I have some 
sugar here.” 

The child, drowsy already with the near approach of 
bedtime, was in her lap, and rested its head on her breast, 
as with her arms still round him her hands disguised the 
drug. 

“ It is a very large dose,” she said dully. “ I knew 
it must be; that’s why I wanted to give it — myself. 
Sonny! Open your mouth, darling — it’s sweet — there — 
swallow it quick — that’s a good Sonnikins.” 

“ You are very brave,” he said with a catch in his 
voice. 

She glanced up at him for a second with a sort of 
scorn in her eyes. I knew he would take it from me,” 
she replied, and then, shifting the child to an easier 
position, began to sing in a half voice : 

‘ * There is a happy land ” 

“ Far — farze — away,” echoed Sonny contentedly. It 
was his usual lullaby, chosen because it resembled a 
native air, beloved of ayahs. 

And as she sang and Sonny’s eyelids drooped the man 
watched them both with a tender awe in his heart ; and the 
other woman, crouching in the corner, watched all three 
with hungry, passionate eyes. Here, in this group of 
man, woman, and child, without a personal claim on each 
other, was something new, half incomprehensible, wholly 
sweet. 

“ He is asleep now,” said Kate after a time. “ You had 
better take him.” 

He stooped to obey, and she stooped also to leave a 
long, lingering kiss on the boy’s soft cheek. It sent a 


HUMANA. 565 

thrill through the man as he recognized that in giving 
him the child she had given him more than kisses. 

The feeling that it was so made him linger a few min- 
utes afterward at the door with a new sense of his re- 
sponsibilities toward her to say: 

“ I wish I had not to leave you alone.” 

“ You will be back directly, and I shall be all right,” 
she said, pausing in her closing of the door, for Tara had 
already passed down the stair with her bundle. 

“ Shall I lock it outside? ” he began. Tara and he had 
been used to do so in those first days when they left her. 

She laid her hand lightly on his arm. “ Don’t,.” she 
said, “ don’t get anxious about me again. What can 
happen in half an hour? ” 

He heard her slip the catch on the staple, however, 
before he ran downstairs. He was to take a different 
road to the Delhi gate from the quiet, more devious 
alleys which Tara would choose in her character of poor 
spinner carrying her raw stuff home. She was to await 
his arrival, to deposit the bundle somewhere close to 
the third door in the back lane by the cloth mer- 
chant’s shop, leaving it to him to take inside, as if he 
were one of the caravan; this plan insuring two things — 
immunity from notice in the streets, and also in the 
yard. But, as Tara would be longer than he by a 
few minutes in reaching the tryst, he purposely went 
through a bit of the Thunbi Bazaar to hear what he 
could of the explosion. He was surprised — a trifle 
alarmed — at the excitement. Crowds were gathered 
round many of the balconies, talking of spies, swearing 
that half the court was in league with the Ridge, and that, 
after all, Abool-Bukr might not have a wild-goose chase. 

“ There will be naught but slops and slaps for him in 
my information. I’ll swear,” said one with a laugh. “ I’ll 
back old Mother Sobrai to beat off a dozen princes.” 

“ And blows and bludgeons in mine'' chuckled another. 

I chose the house of Bahadur, the single-stick player.” 

And as, having no more time to lose, he cut across 
gateward, he saw down an alley a mob surging round 
Ahsan-Oolah, the physician’s, house, and heard a passer- 
by say, “ They have the traitor safe.” It made him 


366 OM THE FACE OE THE PEA TEES. 

vaguely uneasy, since he knew that when once the talk 
turns on hidden things, people, not to be behindhand in 
gossip, rake up every trivial doubt and wonder. 

Still there was a file of bullocks waiting by the cloth 
merchant’s as arranged. And as he passed into the lane 
a dim figure, scarce seen in the dark, slipped out of the 
further end. And there was the bundle. He caught it 
up as if it belonged to him, and after knocking gently at 
the third door, pushed it open, knowing that he must 
show no hesitation. He found himself in a sort of out- 
house or covered entrance, pitch dark save for a faintly 
lighter square showing an outlet, doubtless into the yard 
beyond. He moved toward it, and stumbled over some- 
thing unmistakably upon the floor. A man! He 
dropped the bundle promptly to be ready in case the 
sleeper should be a stranger. But there was no move- 
ment, and he kneeled down to feel if it was Tiddu. A 
Bunjarah! — ^that was unmistakable at the first touch — 
but the limpness was unmistakable too. The man was 
dead — still warm, but dead I By all that was unlucky I — 
not Tiddu surely! With the flint and steel in his waist- 
cloth, he lit a tuft of cotton from the bundle as a torch. 

It was Jhungi-Bhungi, with a knife in his heart! 

“ Huzoor! ” came the familiar creak, as Tiddu, 
attracted by the sudden light, stole in from the yard be- 
yond. “ Quick! there is no time to lose. Give me the 
bundle and go back.” 

“ Go back! ” echoed Jim Douglas amazed. 

‘‘ Huzoor! take off the Bunjarah’s dress. I hare a 
green turban and shawl here. The Huzoor must go 
back to the mem at once. There is treachery.” 

Jim Douglas swore under his breath as he obeyed. 

I know not what, but the mem must not stay there. 
I heard him boasting before, and just now I caught him 
prying.” 

‘^Who, Jhungi?” 

Even at such a moment Tiddu demurred. 

“ The Huzoor mistakes. It is the miscreant Bhungi — 
Jhungi is virtuous ” 

'^You killed him then? ” interrupted the hearer, putting 
^he last touch to his disguise. 


FOX HUMANA. 367 

“ What else could I do, Huzoor? I had only my 
knife. And it is not as if it were — Jhungi ” 

But Jim Douglas was already out of the door, run- 
ning through the dark, deserted lanes while he dared, 
since he must walk through the bazaar. And as he ran 
he told himself that he was a fool to be so anxious. 
What could go wrong in half an hour? 

What indeed! 

As he stood five minutes after, staring into the dark 
emptiness of the roof, he asked himself again and again 
what could have happened? There had been no answer 
to his knock; the door had been hasped on the outside, 
yet the first glance as he entered made him realize that 
the place was empty of life. And though he had lit the 
cresset, with a fierce fear at what it might reveal, he could 
find no trace, even of a struggle. Kate had disappeared ! 
Had she gone out? Impossible. Had Tara heard of the 
danger, returned, and taken her elsewhere? Possible, 
but improbable. He passed rapidly down the stairs 
again. The story below the roof, being reserved for the 
owner’s use on his occasional visits to Delhi, was empty ; 
the occupants of the second floor, pious folk, had fled 
from the city a day or two before ; and when he paused to 
inquire on the ground floor to know if there had been 
any disturbance he found the door padlocked outside — 
sure sign that everyone was out. Oh! why, he thought, 
had he not padlocked that other door upstairs? He 
passed out into the street, beginning to realize that his 
task was over just as he had ceased to gird at it. There ' 
was nothing unusual to be seen. The godly folk about 
were beginning to close their gates for the night, and 
some paused to listen with an outraged air to the thriim- 
mings and drummings from the Princess Farkhoonda’s 
roof. And that was Abool Bukr’s voice singing : 

“ Oh, mistress rare, divine ! ” 

Then if could scarcely be he, and Kate might have 
found friends in that quarter, where so many learned 
folk deemed the slaughter of women unlawful. But 
there was no use in speculating. He must find Tara first. 
He paused, however, to inquire from the cobbler at the 


368 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

corner. “ Disturbance? ” echoed the man. Not much 
more than usual; the Prince, who had passed in half an 
hour agone, being perhaps a bit wilder after his wild- 
goose-chase. Had not the Agha-sahib heard? The 
wags of the bazaar had taken up the offer made by the 
Prince, and his servants had sworn they were glad to get 
him to the Princess’, since they had been whacked out of 
half a dozen houses. He was safe now, however, since 
when he was of that humor Newasi Begum never let him 
go till he was too drunk for mischief. 

Then, thought Jim Douglas, it was possible that 
Jhungi might have given real information; still but one 
thing was certain — the roof was empty; the dream had 
vanished into thin air. 

He did not know as he passed through the dim streets 
that their dream was over also, and that John Nicholson 
stood looking down from the Ridge on the shadowy mass 
of the town. He had posted in a hundred and twenty 
miles that day, arriving in time to hear the explosion of 
the magazine. The city’s salute of welcome, as it were, 
to the man who was to take it. 

He had been dining at the Headquarters mess, taciturn 
and grave, a wet blanket on the jollity, and the Moselle 
cup, and the fresh cut of cheese from the new Europe 
shop; and now, when others were calling cheery good- 
nights as they passed to their tents, he was off to wander 
alone round the walls, measuring them with his keen, 
kindly eyes. A giant of a man, biting his lips beneath 
his heavy brown beard, making his way over the rocks, 
sheltering in the shadow, doggedly, moodily, lost in 
thought. He was parceling out his world for conquest, 
settling already where to prick the bubble. 

But, in a way, it was pricked already. For, as he 
prowled about the Palace walls, a miserable old man, 
minus even the solace of pulse-feeling and cooling 
draughts, was dictating a letter to Hafzan, the woman 
scribe. A miserable letter, to be sent duly the next day 
to the Commanders-in-Chief, and forwarded by them to 
the volunteers of Delhi. A disjointed rambling effusion 
worthy of the shrunken mind and body which held but 
a rambling disjointed memory even of the advice given it. 


vox HUMANA. 


369 


Have I not done all in my power to please the 
soldiery?” it ran. “ But it is to be deplored that you 
have, notwithstanding, shown no concern for my life, no 
consideration for my old age. The care of my health was 
in the hands of Ahsan-Oolah, who kept himself con- 
stantly informed of the changes it underwent. Now 
there is none to care for me but God, while the changes 
in my health are such as may not be imagined; there- 
fore the soldiers and officers ought to gratify me and 
release the physician, so that he may come whenever he 
thinks it necessary to examine my pulse. Furthermore, 
the property plundered from his house belonged to the 
King, therefore it should be traced and collected and con- 
veyed to our presence. If you are not disposed to com- 
ply, let me be conveyed to the Kulb shrine and employ 
myself as a sweeper of the Mosque. And if even this 
be not acceded I will still relinquish every concern and 
jump up from my seat. Not having been killed by the 
English I will be killed by you; for I shall swallow a dia- 
mond and go to sleep. Moreover, in the plunder of the 
physician’s house, a small box containing our seal was 
carried away. No paper, therefore, of a date subsequent 
to the 7th of August, 1857, bearing our seal, will be 
valid.” 

A miserable letter indeed. The dream of sovereignty 
had come to an end with that salute of welcome to John 
Nicholson. 


BOOK V. 


THERE AROSE A MANr 


CHAPTER I. 

FORWARD. 

Are you here on duty, sir? ” asked a brief, imperious 
voice. Major Erlton, startled from a half dream as he 
sat listlessly watching the target practice from the Crow’s 
Nest, rose and saluted. His height almost matched the 
speaker’s, but he looked small in comparison with the 
indescribable air of dominant power and almost arrogant 
strength in the other figure. It seemed to impress him, 
for he pulled himself together smartly with a certain 
confidence, and looked, in truth, every inch a soldier. 

No, sir,” he replied as briefly, “ on pleasure.” 

A distinct twinkle showed for a second in General 
Nicholson’s deep-set hazel eyes. Then go to your bed, 
sir, and sleep. You look as if you wanted some.” He 
spoke almost rudely; but as he turned on his heel he 
added in a louder voice than was necessary had he meant 
the remark for his companion’s ear only, “ I shall want 
good fighting men before long, I expect.” 

If he did, he might reckon on one. Herbert Erlton 
was not good at formulating his feelings into definite 
thoughts, but as he went back to the peaceful side of the 
Ridge he told himself vaguely that he was glad Nicholson 
had come. He was the sort of a man a fellow would be 
glad to follow, especially when he was dead-sick and 
weary of waiting and doing nothing save get killed! 
Yes! he was a real good sort, and as even the Chaplain 
had said at mess, they hadn’t felt quite so besieged on the 


370 


FORIVAJRD. 


Ridge these last two days since he came. And, by 
George! he had hit the right nail on the head. A man 
wasn’t much good without sleep. 

So, with a certain pride in following the advice. Major 
Erlton flung himself on his cot and promptly dozed off. 
In truth he needed rest. Sonny Seymour’s safe arrival 
in camp two nights before, in charge of a Bunjarah, 
from whom even Hodson had been unable to extract any- 
thing — save that the Agha-sahib had forgotten a letter 
in his hurry, and that the mem was safe, or had been 
safe — had sent Major Erlton to watch those devilish 
walls more feverishly than ever. Not that it really mat- 
tered whether Kate was alive or dead, he told himself. 
No! he did not mean that, quite. He would be awfully 
glad — God ! how glad ! to know her safe. But it 
wouldn’t alter other things, would not even alter them 
in regard to her. So, once more he waited for the fur- 
ther news promised him, with a strange indifference, 
save to the thought that, alive or dead, Kate was within 
the walls — like another woman — like many women. 

And now he was dreaming that he was inside them 
also, sword in hand. 

There seemed some chance of it indeed, men were say- 
ing to each other, as they looked after John Nicholson’s 
tall figure as it wandered into every post and picket; 
asking brief questions, pleased with brief replies. Every 
now and again pausing, as it were, to come out of his 
absorption and take a sudden, keen interest in something 
beyond the great question. As when, passing the tents 
of the only lady in camp, he saw Sonny, who had been 
made over to her till he could be sent back to his mother, 
who had escaped to Meerut, during which brief time he 
was the plaything of a parcel of subalterns who delighted 
in him, tinsel cap, anklets, and all. Major Erlton had 
at first rather monopolized the child, trying to find out 
something definite from him; but as he insisted that 
“ Miffis Erlton lived up in the ’ky wif a man wif a gween 
face, and a white face, and a lot of fwowers, and a bit of 
tring,” and spoke familiarly of Tiddu, and Tara, and 
Soma, without being able to say who they were, the 
Major had given it up as a bad job, and gone back to the 


372 


ON- THE FACE OF THE PVATEES. 


walls. So the subalterns had the child to themselves, 
and were playing pranks with him as the General 
passed by. 

“ Fine little fellow! ” he said suddenly. ‘‘ I like to see 
children’s legs and arms. Up in Bunnoo the babies were 
just like that young monkey. Real corn-color. I got 
quite smitten with them and sent for a lot of toys from 
Lahore. Only I had to bar Lawrence from peg-tops, 
for I knew I should have got peg-topping with the boys, 
and that would have been fatal to my dignity as D. C. 
That is the worst of high estates. You daren’t make 
friends, and you have to make enemies.” 

The smile which had made him look years younger 
faded, and he was back in the great problem of his life: 
how to keep pace with his yoke-fellows, how to scorn 
consequences and steer straight to independent action, 
without spoiling himself by setting his seniors and 
superiors in arms against him. He had never solved it 
yet. His career had been one long race with the curb 
on. A year before he had thrown up the game in dis- 
gust, and begged to be transferred from the Punjab 
while he could go with honor, and even his triumphant 
march Delhi-ward — in which he found disaffection, dis- 
obedience, and doubt, and left fear, trembling, and 
peace — had been marred by much rebuking. So that 
once, nothing but the inner sense that pin-points ought 
not to let out the heart’s blood, kept him at his post ; and 
but two days before, on the very eve of that hundred- 
and-twenty mile rush to Delhi, he had written claiming 
definitely the right of an officer in his position to quarrel 
with anybody’s opinion, and asserting his duty of speak-' 
ing out, no matter at what risk of giving offense. 

And now, a man years younger than those in nominal 
command, — he was but six-and-thirty, — and holding 
views diametrically opposed to theirs, he had been sent 
here, virtually, to take Delhi because those others could 
not. No wonder, then, that the question how to avoid 
collision puzzled him. Not because he knew that his ap- 
pointment was in itself an offense, that some people 
affected to speak of him still as Mr. Nicholson — that 
being his real rank; but because he knew in his heart 


FOR WARD. 


373 


of hearts that at any moment he might do something 
appalling. Move troops under someone else’s com- 
mand, without a reference, as he had done before, dur- 
ing his career! Then, naturally, there must be ructions. 
He had a smile for the thought himself. Still, for the 
present, concord was assured; since until his column 
arrived, the repose of the lion crouching for a spring was 
manifestly the only policy; though it might be necessary 
to wag the tail a bit — to do more than merely forbid 
sorties and buglings. The fools, for instance, who har- 
rassed the Metcalfe House picket might be shown their 
mistake and made to understand that, if the Ridge called 
“ time! ” for a little decent rest before the final round, it 
meant to have it. So he passed on his errand to incul- 
cate Headquarters with his decision, leaving Sonny play- 
ing with the boys. 

Meanwhile one of the garrison, at least, had found the 
benefit of his keen judgment. Herbert Erltort had 
passed from dreams of conflict to the real rest of uncon- 
scious sleep, oblivious of everything, even those rose- 
red walls. 

But within them another man, haggard and anxious as 
he had been, was still allowing himself none in his search 
for Kate Erlton. Tara, as much at a loss as he, helping 
him; for though at first she had been relieved at the 
idea of the mem’s disappearance, she had soon realized 
that the master ran more risk than ever in his reckless 
determination to find some trace of the missing woman. 
And Tiddu, who had returned, helped also. The mem, 
he said, must have found friends; must be alive. Such 
a piece of gossip as the discovery and death of an Eng- 
lish woman could not have been kept from the Thunbi 
Bazaar. Then those who had passed from the roof had 
been calm enough to hasp the door behind them; that 
did not look like violence. If the Huzoor would only be 
patient and wait, something would turn up. There were 
other kindly folk in the city besides himself! But, in 
the meantime, he would do well to allow Soma to slip 
into the sulky indifference he semed to prefer, and take 
no notice of it. It only meant that he, and half the good 
soldiers in Delhi, were mad with themselves for having 


374 


0:sr THE FACE OF THE W A TEES. 


chosen the losing side. For with Nikalseyn on the 
Ridge, what chance had Delhi? 

This was rather an exaggerated picture; still it was 
a fairly faithful presentment of the inward thoughts of 
many, who, long before this, had begun to ask them- 
selves what the devil they were doing in that galley? 
Yet there they were, and there they must fight. Soma, 
however, was doubtful even of that. His heart positively 
ached as he listened to the tales told in the very heart of 
Delhi of the man whom other men worshiped — the man 
who took forts single-handed, and said that, given the 
powers of a provost-marshal, he would control a dis- 
obedient army in two days ! The man who yoked bribe- 
taking tahseeldars into the village well-wheel to draw 
water for the robbed ryots, and set women of loose vir- 
tue, who came into his camp, to cool in muddy tanks. 
The man who flung every law-book on his office table at 
his clerks’ heads, and then — with a kindly apologetic 
smile — paused while they replaced them for future use. 
The man who gave toys to children, and remorselessly 
hung two abettors of a vile murder, when he could not 
lay hands on the principal. The man, finally, who 
flogged those who worshiped him into promising adora- 
tion for the future to a very ordinary mortal of his 
acquaintance! Briefly the hero, the demi-god, who 
perhaps was neither, but, as Tiddu declared, had simply 
the greatest gift of all — the gift of making men what he 
wished them to be. Either way it was gall and worm- 
wood to Soma — hero-worshiper by birth — that his side 
should have no such colossal figure to follow. So, sulky 
and sore, he held aloof from both sides, doing his 
bounden duty to both, and no more. Keeping guards 
when his fellows took bribes to fight, and agreeing with 
Tiddu, that since some other besides themselves knew of 
the roof, it was safer for the master to lock it up, and 
live for a time elsewhere. 

So, all unwittingly, the only chance of finding Kate 
was lost. For what had happened was briefly this: Five 
minutes after Jim Douglas had left her. Prince Abool- 
Bukr, who had kept this renseignement — given him by a 
Bunjarah, who had promised to be in waiting and was 


FORWARD. 


375 


not — to the last, because it was close to the haven where 
he would be, had come roystering up the stairs followed 
by his unwilling retainers, suggesting that the Most 
Illustrious had really better desist from violating seclu- 
sion since they were all black and blue already. But, 
from sheer devilry and desire to outrage the quarter, 
which by its complaints had already brought him into 
trouble, the Prince had begun battering at the door. 
Kate, running to bar it more securely, saw that the hasp, 
carelessly hitched over the staple, was slipping — had 
slipped; and had barely time to dash into the inner roof 
ere the Prince, unexpectant of the sudden giving way, 
tumbled headlong into the outer one. The fall gave 
her an instant more, but made him angry; and the end 
would have been certain, if Kate,' seeing the new-made 
gap in the wall before her, had not availed herself of it. 
There was a roof not far below she knew; the debris 
would be on a slope perhaps — ^the blue-eyed boy had 
escaped by the roofs. All this flashed through her, as 
by the aid of a stool, which she kicked over in her 
scramble, she gained the top of the gap and peered over. 
The next instant she had dropped hersfelf down some 
four feet, finding a precarious foothold on a sliding 
slope of rubble, and still clinging to the wall with her 
hands. If no one looked over, she thought breathlessly, 
she was safe! And no one did. The general air of 
decent privacy alarmed the retainers into remembering 
that two of their number had found death their reward 
for their master’s last escapade in that quarter; so, after 
one glance round, they swore the place was empty, and 
dragged him off, feebly protesting that it was his last 
chance, and he had not bagged a single Christian. 

Kate heard the door closed, heard the voices retreat 
downstairs, and then set herself to get back over the gap. 
It did not seem a difiicult task. The slope on which she 
hung gave fair foothold, and by getting a good grip on 
the brickwork, and perhaps displacing a brick or two in 
the crack lower down, as a step, she ought to get up 
easily. It was lucky the crack was there, she thought. 
In one way, not in another, for, as in her effort she neces- 
sarily threw all her weight on the wall, another bit of it 


31 6 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

gave way, she fell backward, and so, half covered with 
bricks and mud, rolled to the roof below, which was 
luckily not more than eight or nine feet down. It was far 
enough, however, for the fall to have killed her; but, 
though she lay quite unconscious, she was not dead, only 
stunned, shaken, confused, unable absolutely to think. 
It was almost dawn, indeed, before she realized that her 
only chance of getting up again was in calling for help, 
and by that time the door of the roof above had been 
locked, and there was no one to hear her. The few 
square yards of roof on to which she had rolled belonged 
to one of those box-like buildings, half-turrets, half-sum- 
mer houses, which natives build here, there, and every- 
where at all sorts of elevations, until the view of a town 
from a topmost roof resembles nothing so much as the 
piles of luggage awaiting the tidal train at Victoria. 

This particular square of roof belonged to a tiny out- 
house, which stood on a long narrow roof belonging in 
its turn to an arcaded slip of summer-house standing on 
a square, set round by high parapet walls. -Quite a stair- 
case of roofs. Her one had had a thatch set against 
the wall, but it had fallen in with the weight of bricks and 
mortar. Still she might be able to creep between it and 
the wall for shelter. And on the slip of roof below, 
Indian corn was drying, during this break in the rains. 
Rains which had filled a row of water-pots quite full. 
Since she could not make those above her hear, she 
thought it might be as well to secure herself from abso- 
lute starvation, before broad daylight brought life to the 
wilderness of roofs around her. So she scrambled down 
a rough ladder of bamboo tied with string, and, after a 
brief look into the square below, came back with some 
parched grain she had found in a basket, and a pot of 
water. She would not starve for that day. By this time 
it was dawn, and she crept into her shelter, listening 
all the while for a sound from above; every now and 
again venturing on a call. But there was no answer, 
and by degrees it came to her that she must rely on her- 
self only for safety. She was not likely to be disturbed 
that day where she was, unless people came to repair 
the thatch. And under cover of night she might surely 


FORWARD. 


377 


creep from roof to roof down to some alley. What alley? 
True, her goal now lay behind her, but these roofs, set 
at every angle, might lead her far from it. And how 
was she to know her own stair, her own house, from the 
outside? She had passed into it in darkness and never 
left it again. Then what sort of people lived in these 
houses through which she must creep like a thief? Mur- 
derers, perhaps. Still it was her only chance; and all 
that burning, blistering day, as she crouched between the 
thatch and the wall, she was bolstering up her courage 
for the effort. She could see the Ridge clearly from her 
hiding place. Ah! if she had only the wings of the 
doves — those purple pigeons which, circling from the 
great dome of the mosque, came to feast unchecked on 
the Indian corn. The people below, then, must be pious 
folk. 

It was past midnight and the silence of sleep had 
settled over the city before she nerved herself to the 
chance and crept down among the corn. No difficulty 
in that; but to her surprise, a cresset was still burning in 
the arcaded veranda below, sending three bars of light 
across the square through which she must pass. It would 
be better to wait a while; but an hour slipped by and still 
the light gleamed into the silence. Perhaps it had been 
forgotten. The possibility made her creep down the 
brick ladder, prepared to creep up again if the silence 
proved deceptive. But what she saw made her pause, 
hesitating. It was a woman reading from a large book 
held in a book-rest. The Koran, of course. Kate 
recognized it at once, for just such another had been 
part of the necessary furniture of her roof. And what 
a beautiful face! Tender, refined, charming. Not the 
face of a murderess, surely? Surely it might be trusted? 
Those three months behind the veil had made Kate 
realize the emotionality of the East; its instinctive sym- 
pathy with the dramatic element in life. She remem- 
bered her sudden impulse in regard to the knife and its 
effect on Tiddu; she felt a similar impulse toward confi- 
dence here. And then she knew that the doors might be 
locked below, and that her best chance might be to throw 
herself on the mercy of this woman, 


378 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


The next moment she was standing full in the light 
close to the student, who started to her feet with a faint 
cry, gazing almost incredulously at the figure so like her 
own, save for the jewels gleaming among the white 
draperies. 

“ Bibi,” she faltered. 

“ I am no bibi,” interrupted Kate hurriedly in Hin- 
dustani. “ I am a Christian — but a woman like your- 
self — a mother. For the sake of yours — or the sake of 
your sons, if you are a mother too — ^for the sake of what 
you love best — save me.” 

“ A Christian ! a mem ! ” In the pause of sheer aston- 
ishment the two women stood facing each other, looking 
into each other’s eyes. Prince Abool-Bukr had been 
right when he said that Kate Erlton reminded him of 
the Princess Farkhoonda da Zamani. Standing so, 
they showed strangely alike indeed, not in feature, but 
in type; in the soul which looked out of the soft dark, 
and the clear gray eyes. 

“ Save you ! ” The faint echo was lost in a new sound, 
close at hand. A careless voice humming a song; a 
step coming up the dark stair. 

‘ ‘ O mistress rare, divine ! ” 

God and His Prophet! Abool himself! Newasi 
flung her hands up in sheer horror. Abool! and this 
Christian here! The next instant with a fierce Keep 
still,” she had thrust Kate into the deepest shadow and 
was out to bar the brick ladder with her tall white grace. 
She had no time for thought. One sentence beat on her 
brain — “ for the sake of what you love best, save me ! ” 
Yea! for his sake this strange woman must not be seen — 
he must not, should not guess she was there! 

“ Stand back, kind one, and let me pass,” came the 
gay voice carelessly. It made Kate shudder back into 
further shadow, for she knew now where she was; and 
but that she would have to pass those bars of light would 
have essayed escape to the roofs again. 

But Newasi stood still as stone on the first step of the 
3tairs. 

Pags ! ” she repeated clearly, coldly, Art mad, 


FOR WARD. 


379 


Abool? that thou comest hither with no excuse of 
drunkenness and alone, at this hour of the night. For 
shame ! ” 

Why, indeed, she asked herself wildly, had he come? 
He was not used to do so. Could he have heard? Had 
he come on purpose? There was a sound as if he re- 
treated a step, and from the dark his voice came with a 
wonder in it. 

“ What ails thee, Newasi? ” 

“ What ails me! ” she echoed, “ what I have lacked too 
long. Just anger at thy thoughtless ways. Go ” 

“ But I have that to tell thee of serious import that 
none but thou must hear. That which will please thee. 
That which needs thy kind wise eyes upon it.” 

” Then let them see it by daylight, not now. I will 
not, Abool. Stand back, or I will call for help.” 

The sound of retreat was louder this time, and a mut- 
tered curse came with it; but the voice had a trace of 
anxiety in it now — anxiety and anger. 

“Thou dost not mean it, kind one; thou canst not! 
When have I done that which would make thee need 
help? Newasi! be not a fool. Remember it is I, Abool; 
Abool-Bukr, who has a devil in him at times! ” 

Did she not know it by this time? Was not that the 
reason why he must not find this Christian? Why she 
must refuse him hearing? Though it was true that he 
had a right to be trusted; in all those long years, when 
had he failed to treat her tenderly, respectfully? As 
she stood barring his way, where he had never before 
been denied entrance, she felt as if she herself could have 
killed that strange woman for being there, for coming 
between them. 

“Listen, Abool!” she said, stretching out her hands 
to find his in the dark. “ I mean naught, dear, that is 
unkind. How could it be so between me and thee? 
But ’tis not wise.” She paused, catching her breath in 
a faint sob. He could not see her face, perhaps if he 
had, he would have been less relentless. 

“ Wherefore? Canst not trust thy nephew, fair aunt? ’’ 

The sarcasm bit deep. 


380 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“Nephew! A truce, Abool, to this foolish tale,” she 
began hotly, when he interrupted her. 

“Of a surety, if the Princess Farkhoonda desires it! 
Yet would Mirza Abool-Bukr still like to know where- 
fore he is not received?” 

His tone sent a thrill of terror through her, his use of 
the name he hated warned her that his temper was ris- 
ing — the devil awakening. 

“ Canst not see, dear,” she pleaded, trying to keep 
the hands he would have drawn from hers — “ folk have 
evil minds.” 

He gave an ugly laugh. “ Since when hast thou be- 
gun to think of thy good name, like other women, Ne- 
wasi? But if it be so, if all my virtue — and God knows 
’tis ill-got — is to go for naught, let it end.” 

She heard him, felt him turn, and a wild despair surged 
up in her. Which was worst? To let him go in anger 
beyond the reach of her controlling hand mayhap — go 
to unknown evils — or chance this one? Since — since at 
the worst death might be concealed. God and His 
Prophet! What a thought! No! she would plead 
again — she would stoop — she would keep him at any 
price. 

“ Listen ! ” she whispered passionately, leaning toward 
him in the dark, “ dost ask since when I have feared for 
my good name? Canst not guess? — Abool! what — what 
does a woman, as I am, fear — save herself — save her own 
love— ^ — ” 

There was an instant’s silence, and then his reckless 
jeering laugh jarred loud. 

“ So it has come at last! and there is another woman 
for kisses. That is an end indeed! Did I not tell thee 
we should quarrel over it some day? Well, be it so, 
Princess! I will take my virtue elsewhere.” 

She stood as if turned to stone, listening to his retreat- 
ing steps, listening to his nonchalant humming of the 
old refrain as he passed through the courtyard into th^ 
alley. Then, without a word, but quivering with pas- 
sion, she turned to where Kate cowered, and dragged 
her by main force to the stairs where, a minute before^ 
she had sacrificed everything for her. No! not for her, 
for him! 


FORWARD. 381 

Go,” she said bitterly. Go! and my curse go with 
you.” 

Kate fled before the anger she saw but did not under- 
stand, Yet as she flew down the steep stairs she paused 
involuntarily to listen to the sound — a sound which 
needed no interpreter as the liquid Persian had done— 
of a woman sobbing as if her heart would break. 

She had no time, however, even for wonder, and the 
next instant she was out in the alley, turning to the right. 
For the knowledge that it was the Princess Farkhoonda 
who had helped her, gave the clew to her position. But 
the house, the stair? How could she know it? She 
must try them one after another; since she would know 
the landing, the door she had so often opened and shut. 
Still it was perilously near dawn ere she found what she 
was sure was the right one; but it was padlocked. 

They must have gone; gone and left her alone! 

For the first time, ghastly, unreasoning fear seized on 
her; she could have beaten at the door and screamed 
her claim to be let in. And even when, the rush of ter- 
ror passed, she sat stupidly on the step, not even wonder- 
ing what to do next, till suddenly she remembered that 
she had keys in her pocket. That of the inner padlock, 
certainly; perhaps of the outer one, also, since Tara had 
given up using her duplicate altogether. 

She had; and five minutes after, having satisfied her- 
self that the roof remained as it was^that it was merely 
empty for a time — she tried to feel grateful. But the 
loneliness, the dimness, were too much for her fatigue, 
her excitement. So once more the sound which needs 
no interpreter rose on the warm soft night. 

It was two days after this that Tiddu held a secret 
consultation with Soma and Tara. The Agha-sahib, he 
said, was getting desperate. He was losing his head, 
as the Huzoors did over women-folk, and he must be 
got out of the city. It was not as if he did any good by 
staying in it. The mem was either dead, or safely con- 
cealed. There was no alternative, unless, indeed, she 
had already been passed, out to the Ridge. There was 
talk of that sort among Hodson’s . spies, and he was»going 
tp utilize the fact and persuade the Huzoor to creep put 


382 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


to the camp and see. Soma could pass him out, and 
would not pass him in again; which was fortunate. 
Since folk in addition to protecting masters had to make 
money, when every other corn-carrier in the place was 
coining it by smuggling gold and silver out of the city 
for the rich merchants. Tara, with a sudden fierce exul- 
tation in her somber eyes, agreed. Let the Huzoor go 
back to his own life, she said; let him go to safety, and 
leave her free. As for the mem, the master had done 
enough for her. And Soma, sulky and lowering with 
the dull glow of opium in his brain — for the drug was 
his only solace now — swore that Tiddu was right. Delhi 
was no place for the master. And once out of it, the 
fighting would keep him: he knew him of old. As for 
the mem, he would not harm her, as Tara had once sug- 
gested he should. That dream was over. The Huzoors 
vvrere the true masters; they had men who could lead 
men. Not Princes in Cashmere shawls who couldn’t 
understand a word of what you said, and mere soubadars 
cocked up, but real Colonels and Generals. 

The result of this being that on the night of the nth, 
between midnight and dawn, Jim Douglas, with that ela- 
tion v/hich came to him always at the prospect of action, 
prepared to slip out of the sally-port by the Magazine, 
disguised as a sepoy. This was to please Soma. To 
please Tiddu, however, he wore underneath this disguise 
the old staff uniform from the theatrical properties. It 
reminded him of Alice Gissing, making him whisper 
another “ bravo ” to the memory of the woman whom 
he had buried under the orange-trees in the crimson- 
netted shroud made of an officer’s scarf. 

• But Tiddu’s rernark, that an English uniform would be 
the safest, once he was beyond the city, sent sadness fly- 
ing, in its frank admission that the tide had turned. 

Turned, indeed! The certainty came with a great 
throb of fierce joy as, half an hour afterward, slipping 
past the gardens of Ludlow Castle, he found himself in 
the thick of English bayonets, and felt grateful for the 
foresight of the old staff uniform. They were on their 
way to surprise and take the picket; not to defend but 
to attack, 


PORtVAUD. 


3^3 


The opportunity was too good to be lost. There was 
no hurry. He had arranged to remain three days on the 
Ridge — he might not have another opportunity of a free 
fair fight. 

He had forgotten every woman in the world, every- 
thing save tjie welcome silence before him as he turned 
and stole through the trees also, sword in hand. 

By all that was lucky and well-planned! the picket 
must be asleep! Not a sound save the faint crackle of 
stealthy feet almost lost in the insistent quiver of the 
cicalas. No! there was a challenge at last within a foot 
or two. 

“ Hsokundar!’^ 

And swift as an echo a young voice beside him came 
jibingly: 

“ It’s me, Pandy! Take that.” 

It’s me! Just so; me with a vengeance. For the 
right attack and the left were both well up. There was 
a short, sharp volley; then the welcome familiar order. 
A cheer, a clatter, a rush and clashing with the bayonets. 
It seemed but half a minute before Jim Douglas found 
himself among the guns slashing at a dazed artilleryman 
who had a port-fire in his hand. So the artillery on 
either side never had a chance, and Major Erlton, riding 
up with the 9th Lancers as the central attack, found 
that bit of the fighting over. The picket was taken, 
the mutineers had fled cityward leaving four guns be- 
hind them. And against one of these, as the Major rode 
close to gloat over it, leaned a man whom he recognized 
at once. 

“My God! Douglas,” he said, “where — where’s 
Kate? — where’s my wife?” 

It was rather an abrupt transition of thought, and Jim 
Douglas, who was feeling rather queer from something, 
he scarcely knew what, looked up at the speaker doubt- 
fully. 

“ Oh, it is you. Major Erlton,” he said slowly. “ I 
thought — I mean I hoped she was here — if she isn’t — 
why, I suppose I’d better go back.” 

He took his arm off the gun and half-stumbled for- 
ward, when Major Erlton flung himself from his horse 
and laid hold of him. 


384 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ You’re hit, man — the blood’s pouring from your 
sleeve. Here, off with your coat, sharp ! ” 

“ I can’t think why it bleeds so? ” said Jim Douglas 
feebly, looking down at a clean cut at the inside of the 
elbow from which the blood was literally spouting. “ It 
is nothing — nothing at all.” ^ 

The Major gave a short laugh. “ Take the go out of 
you a bit, though. I’ll get a tourniquet on sharp, and 
send you up in a dhooli.” 

What an unlucky devil I am! ” muttered Jim Doug- 
las to himself, and the Major did not deny it: he was in 
a hurry to be off again with the party told to clear the 
Koodsia Gardens. Which they did successfully before 
sunrise, when the expedition returned to camp cheering 
like demons and dragging in the captured guns, bn which 
some of the wounded men sat triumphantly. It was 
their first real success since Budli-ke-serai, two months 
before; and they were in wild spirits. 

Even the Doctor, fresh from shaking his head over 
many a form lifted helplessly from the dhoolis, was jubi- 
lant as he sorted Jim Douglas’ arm. 

“ Keep you here ten days or so I should say. There’s 
always a chance of its breaking out again till the wound 
is quite healed. Never mind! You can go into Delhi 
with the rest of us, before then.” 

“ Yoicks forward!” cried a wounded lad in the cot 
close by. The Doctor turned sharply. 

“ If you don’t keep quiet, Jones, I’ll send you back 
to Meerut. And you too, Maloney. I’ve told you to 
lie still a dozen times.” 

“ Sure, Docther dear, ye couldn’t be so cruel,” said a 
big Irishman sitting at the foot of his bed so as to get 
nearer to a new arrival who was telling the tale of the 
fight. “ And me able-bodied and spoiling to be at me 
wurrk this three days.” 

“ It’s a curious fact,” remarked the Doctor to Jim 
Douglas as he finished bandaging him, ‘‘ the hospital has 
been twice as- insubordinate since Nicholson came in. 
The men seem to think we are to assault Delhi to- 
morrow.. But we can’t till the siege train comes, of 
course. So you may be in at the death! ” 


BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 


385 


Jim Douglas felt glad and sorry in a breath. 

Finally he told himself he could let decision stand over 
for a day or two. He must see Hodson first, and find 
out if the letter he had had from his spies about an Eng- 
lishwoman, concealed in Delhi, referred to Kate Erlton. 


CHAPTER H. 

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 

The letter, however, did not refer to Kate; thougn, 
curiously enough, the Englishwoman it concerned had 
been, and still was concealed in an Afghan’s house. 
Kate, then, had not been the only Englishwoman in 
Delhi. There was a certain consolation in the thought, 
since what was being done for one person by kindly 
natives might very well be done for another. Besides, 
removed as he was now from the fret and strain of actual 
search, Jim Douglas admitted frankly to Major Hodson 
that he was right in saying that Mrs. Erlton must either 
have come to an end of her troubles altogether, or have 
found friends better able, perhaps, than he to protect her. 

Regarding the first possibility also Major Hodson was 
skeptical. He had hundreds of spies in the city. Such 
a piece of good luck as the discovery of a Christian must 
have been noised abroad. They had not mentioned it; 
he did not, therefore, believe it had occurred. He 
^would, however, inquire, and till the answer came ir 
would be foolish to go back to the city. Jim Douglas 
admitted this also; but as the days passed, the desire to 
return increased; especially when Major Erlton came 
to see him, which he did with dutiful regularity. Jim 
Douglas could not help admiring him when he stood, 
stiff and square, thanking him as Englishmen thank 
their fellows for what they know to be beyond thanks. 

“ I am sure no one could have done more, and I know 
I couldn’t have done a quarter so much; and I’m grate- 
ful,” he said awkwardly. Then with the best intentions, 
born from a real pity for the haggard man who sat on 


386 


OM THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


the edge of his cot looking as men do after a struggle of 
weeks with malarial fever, he added, “ And the luck has 
been a bit against you all the time, hasn’t it? ” 

“ As yet, perhaps,” replied Jim Douglas, feeling in- 
clined then and there to start cityward, “ but the game 
isn’t over. When I go back ” 

“ Hodson says you could do no good,” continued the 
big man, still with the best intentions. 

“ I don’t agree with him,” retorted the other sharply. 

“ Perhaps not — but — but I wouldn’t, if I were you. 
Or — rather — / should of course^ — only — you see it is 
differenPfor me. She ” Major Erlton paused, find- 

ing it difficult to explain himself. The memory of that 
last letter he had written to Kate was always with him, 
making him feel she was not, in a way, his wife. He had 
never regretted it. He had scarcely thought what would 
happen if she came back from the dead, as it were, to 
ansv/er it; for he hated thought. Even now the com- 
plexity of his emotions irritated him, and he broke 
through them almost brutally. “ She was my wife, you 
see. But you had nothing to do with it; so you had 
better leave it alone. You’ve done enough already. 
And as I said before. I’m grateful.” 

So he had stalked away, leaving his hearer frowning. 
It was true. The luck had been against him. But what 
right had it to be so? Above all, what right had that big 
brutal fellow to say so? There he was going off to win 
more distinction, no doubt. He would end by getting 
the Victoria Cross, and confound him! from what people 
said of him, he would well deserve it. 

While he? Even these two days had brought his 
failure home to him. And yet he told himself, that if he 
had failed to save one Englishwoman, others had failed 
to save hundreds. Fresh as he was to the facts, they 
seemed toshim almost incredible. As he wandered round 
the Ridge inspecting that rear-guard of graves, or sat 
talking to some of the thousand-and-odd sick and 
wounded in hospital, listening to endless tales of courage, 
pluck, sheer dogged resistance, he realized at what a ter- 
rible cost that armed force, varying from three to six 
thousand men, had simply clung to the rocks and looked 


BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS, 


387 


at the city. There seemed enough heroism in it to have 
removed mountains; and coming upon him, not in the 
monotonous sequence of day-to-day experience, but in 
a single impression, the futility of it left him appalled. 
So did the news of the world beyond Delhi, heard, 
reliably, for the first time. Briefly, England was every- 
where on her defense. It seemed to him as if from that 
mad dream of conquest within the city he had passed to 
as strange a dream of defeat. And why? The fire, un- 
checked at first, had blazed up with fresh fuel in place 
after place and left? — Nothing. Not a single attempt to 
wrest the government of the country from us; not even 
an organized resistance, when once the order to advance 
had been given. Had there been some mysterious influ- 
ence abroad making men blind to the truth? 

It was about to pass away if there had been, he felt, 
when on the 14th, he watched John Nicholson re-enter 
the Ridge at the head of his column. And many others 
felt the same, without in any way disparaging those who 
for long months of defense had borne the burden and 
heat of the day. They simply saw that Fate had sent a 
new factor into the problem, that the old order was 
changing. The defense was to be attack. 

And why not, with that reinforcement of fine fighting 
men? Played in by the band of the 8th, amid cheering 
and counter-cheering, which almost drowned the music, 
it seemed fit — as the joke ran — if not to face hell itself, at 
any rate to take Pandymoniiim. The 52d Regiment 
looked like the mastiff to which its leader had likened it. 
The 2d Sikhs were admittedly the biggest fellows ever 
seen. The wild Mooltanee Horse sat their lean Be- 
loochees with the loose security of seat which tells of men 
born to the saddle. 

Jim Douglas noted these things like his fellows; but 
what sent that thrill of confidence through him was the 
look on many a face, as at some pause or turn it caught 
a glimpse of the General’s figure. It was that heroic 
figure itself, seen for the first time, riding ahead of all 
with no unconsciousness of the attention it attracted! 
but with a self-reliant acceptance of the fact — as far from 
modesty as it was from vanity — that here rode John 


388 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


Nicholson ready to do what John Nicholson could do. 
But in the pale face, made paler by the darkness of the 
beard, there was more than this. There was an almost 
languid patience as if the owner knew that the men 
around him said of him, “ If ever there is a desperate 
deed to do in India, John Nicholson is the man to do it,” 
and was biding his time to fulfill their hopes. 

The look haunted Jim Douglas all day, stimulating 
him strangely. Here was a man, he felt, who was in the 
grip of Fate, but who gave back the grip so firmly that 
his Fate could not escape him. Give it back frankly, 
freely, as one man might grip another’s hand in friend- 
ship. And then he smiled, thinking that John Nichol- 
son’s hand-clasp would go a long way in giving anyone 
a help over a hard stile. If he had had a lead-over like 

that after the smash came; if even now Idle 

thoughts, he told himself; and all because the pictur- 
esqueness of a man’s outward appearance had taken his 
fancy, his imagination. For all he knew, or was ever 
likely to know 

He had been sitting idly on the edge of his cot in the 
tiny tent Major Erlton had lent him, having in truth 
nothing better to do, and now a voice from the blaze and 
blare of the heat and light outside startled him. 

May I come in — ^John Nicholson? ” 

He almost stammered in his surprise ; but without wait- 
ing for more than a word the General walked in, alone. 
He was still in full uniform ; and surely no man could be- 
come it more, thought Jim Douglas involuntarily. 

“ I have heard your story, Mr. Douglas,” he began in 
a sonorous but very pleasant voice. “ It is a curious one. 
And I was curious to see you. You must know so 
much.” He paused, fixed his eyes in a perfectly unem- 
barassed stare on his host’s face, then said suddenly, with 
a sort of old-fashioned courtesy : “ Sit you down again, 
please; there isn’t a chair, I see; but the cot will stand 
two of us. If it doesn’t it will be clearly my fault.” He 
smiled kindly. “ Wounded too — I didn’t know that.” 

“ A scratch, sir,” put in his hearer hastily, fighting shy 
even of that commiseration. “ I had a little fever in the 
city; that is all.” 


BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 


389 


The bright hazel eyes, with a hint of sunlight in' them, 
took rather an absent look. “ I should like to have done 
it myself. I’ve tried that sort of thing; but they always 
find me out.” 

“ I fancy you must be rather difficult to disguise,” be- 
gan Jim Douglas with a smile, when John Nicholson 
plunged straight into the heart of things; 

“ You must know a lot I want to know. Of course 
I’ve seen Hodson and his letters; but this is different. 
First: Will the city fight?” 

As well as it knows how, and it knows better than 
it did.” 

So I fancied. Hodson said not. By the wa)r,' he 
told me -that you declared his Intelligence Department 
was simply perfect. And his accounts — I mean his in- 
formation — ^wonderfully accurate.” 

I did, indeed, sir,” replied Jim Douglas, smiling 
again. 

Nicholson gave him a sharp look. “ And he is a won- 
derfully fine soldier too, sir; one of the finest we have. 
Wilson is sending him out this afternoon to punish those 
Ranghars at Rohtuck. I don’t know why I should pre- 
sent you with this information, Mr. Douglas?’^ 

“ Don’t you, sir? ” was the cool reply; ‘‘ I think I do. 
Major Hodson may have his faults, sir, but the Ridge 
couldn’t do without him. And I’m glad to hear he is 
going out. It is time we punished those chaps ; time we 
got some grip on the country again.” 

The General’s face cleared. “ Hm,” he said, you 
don’t mince matters ; but I don’t think we lost much grip 
in the Punjab. And as for punishments ! Do you know 
over two thousand have been executed already?” 

“ I donit, sir; though I knew Sir John’s hand was out. 
But if you’ll excuse me, we don’t want the hangings now 
— they can come by-and-by. We want to lick them — 
show them we are not really in a blind funk.” 

You use strong language too, sir— ^very str6ng 
language.” • ■ 

“ I did nOt say we were in one ” began Jim Doug- 

las eagerly, when a voice asking if General Nicholson 
were within interrupted him, ' ' ■ 


390 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

‘‘ He is,” replied the sonorous voice calmly. Come 
in, Hodson, and I hope you are prepared to fight.” The 
bright hazel eyes met Jim Douglas’ with a distinct twin- 
kle in them; but Major Hodson entering — a perfect 
blaze of scarlet and fawn and gold, loose, lank, lavish — 
gave the speech a different turn. 

I hope you’ll excuse the intrusion, sir,” he said 
saluting, as it were, loudly, “ but being certain I owed 
this piece of luck to your kind offices, I ventured to fol- 
low you. And as for the fighting, sir, trust Hodson’s 
Horse to give a good account of itself.” 

I do. Major, I do,” replied Nicholson gravely, 
despite the twinkle, “but at present I want you to fight 
Mr. Douglas for me. He suggests we are all in a blind 
funk.” 

With anyone else Jim Douglas might have refused 
this cool demand, for it was little else, that he should de- 
fend his statement against a man who in himself 
was a refutation of it, who was a type of the most reck- 
less, dare-devil courage and dash; but the thought 
of that umpire, ready to give an overwhelming thrust at 
any time, roused his temper and pugnacity. 

“ I’m not conscious of being in one myself,” said the 
Major, turning with a swing and a brief “ How do, Doug- 
las.” He was the most martial of figures in the last-de- 
veloped uniform of the Flamingoes, or the Ring-tailed 
Roarers, or the Aloo Bokhara’s, as Hodson’s levies were 
called indiscriminately during their lengthy process of 
dress evolution. “ And what is more, I don’t under- 
stand what you mean, sir! ” 

“ General Nicholson does, I think,” replied the other. 
“ But I will go further than I did, sir,” he added, facing 
the General foldly: “ I only said that the natives thought 
we were in a blind funk. I now assert that they had a 
right to say so. We never stirred hand or foot for a 
whole month.” 

“Oh! I give you in Meerut,” interrupted Hodson 
hastily. “ It was pitiable. Our leaders lost their heads.” 

“ Not only our leaders. We all lost them. From 
that moment to this it seems to me we have never been 
calm.” 


bridles, spurs. 


39t 


Calm! ” echoed Hodson disdainfully. “ Who* wants 
to be calm? Who would be calm with those massacred 
women and children to avenge.’’ 

“ Exactly so. The horrors of those ghastly murders 
got on our nerves, and no wonder. We exaggerated the 
position from the first; we exaggerate the dangers of it 
now.” 

“ Of taking Delhi, you mean? ” interrupted Nicholson 
dryly. 

Jim. Douglas smiled. “No, sir! Even you will find 
that difficult. I meant the ultimate danger to our 
rule ” 

“ There you mistake utterly,” put in Hodson magnifi- 
cently. “We mean to win — we admit no danger. There 
isn’t an Englishman, or, thank Heaven, an English- 
woman ” 

“ Is the crisis so desperate that we need levy the 
ladies?” asked his adversary sarcastically. “ Personally 
I want to leave them out of the question as much as I 
can. It is their intrusion into it which has done the mis- 
chief. I don’t want to minimize these horrors; but if 
we could forget those massacres ” 

“Forget them! I hope to God every Englishman 
will remember them' when the time comes to avenge 
them! Ay! and make the murderers remember them, 
too.” 

“ If I had them in my power to-day,” put in the 
sonorous voice, “ and knew I was to die to-morrow, I 
would inflict the most excruciating tortures I could think 
of on them with an easy conscience.” 

“ Bravo ! sir,” cried Hodson, “ and I’d do executioner 
gladly.” 

John Nicholson’s face flinched slightly. “There is 
generally a common hangman, I believe,” he said; then 
turned on Jim Douglas with bent brows: “And you, sir? ” 

“ I would kill them, sir; as I would kill a mad dog in 
the quickest way handy; as I’d kill every man found with 
arms in his hands. Treason is a worse crime than mur- 
der to us now ; and by God ! if I tortured anyone it would 
be the men who betrayed the garrison at Cawnpore. Yet 
even there, in our only real collapse, what has happened? 


392 OM THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

It is reoccupied already — the road to it is hung with 
dead , bodies. Havelock’s march is one long procession 
of success. Yet we count ourselveS|beleaguered. Why? 
I can’t understand it! Where has^an order to charge, 
to advance boldly, met. with a reverse? It seems to me 
that but for these massacres, this fear for women and 
children, we could hold our own gayly. Look at 
Lucknow ” u 

“ Yes, Lucknow,” assented Hodson savagely. Sir 
Henry, the bravest, gentlest, dead! Women and chil- 
dren pent up — by Heaven! it’s sickening to think what 
may have happened.” 

John Nicholson shot a quick glance at Jim Douglas. 

“ It proves my contention,” said the latter. “ Think 
of it! Fifteen hundred, English and natives, in a weak 
position with not even a palisade in some places between 
them and five times their number of trained soldiers 
backed by the wildest, wickedest, wantonest town rabble 
in India! What does it mean? Make every one of the 
fifteen hundred a paladin, and, by Heaven! they are 
heroes. Still, what does it mean? ” 

He spoke to the General, but he was silent. 

“Mean?” echoed Hodson. “Palpably that the foe 
is contemptible. So he is. Pandy can’t fight ” 

“ He fought well enough for us in the past. I know 

my regiment ” Jim Douglas caught himself up hard. 

“ I believe they will fight for us again. The truth is 
that half, even of the army, does not want to fight, and 
the country does not mean fight at all.” 

“ Delhi? ” came the dry voice again. 

“ Delhi is exceptional. Besides, it can do nothing else 
now. Remember we condemned it, unheard, on the 8th 
of June.” 

“ I told you that before, sir; didn’t I? ” put in Hodson 
quickly. “ If we had gone in on the nth, as I sug- 
gested.” 

“You wouldn’t have succeeded,” replied Jim Douglas 
coolly. Nicholson rose with a smile. 

“ Well, we are going to succeed now. So, good-luck 
in the meantime, Hodson. Put bit and bridle on the 
Ranghars. Show them we can’t have ’em disturbing the 


BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 393 

public peace, and kicking up futile rows. Eh — Mr.* 
Douglas? ” 

“ No fear, sir! said Hodson effusively. “ The Ring- 
tailed Roarers are not in a blind funk. I only wish that 
I was as sure that the politicals will keep order when 
we’ve made it. I had to do it twice over at Bhagput. 
And it is hard, sir, when one has fagged horses and men 
to death, to be told one has exceeded orders ” 

“ If you served under me. Major Hodson,” said the 
General with a sudden freeze of formality, “ that would 
be impossible. My instructions are always to do every- 
thing that can be done.” 

Jim Douglas felt that he could well believe it, as with a 
regret that the interview was over, he held the flap of the 
tent aside for the imperial figure to pass out. But it 
lingered in the blaze of sunshine after Major Hodson 
had jingled off. 

“ You are right in some things, Mr. Douglas,” said the 
sonorous voice suddenly: “ I’d ask no finer soldiers than 
some of those against us. By and by, unless I’m wrong, 
men of their stock will be our best war weapons; for, 
mind you, war is a primitive art and needs a primitive 
people. And the country isn’t against us. If it were, 
we shouldn’t be standing here. It is too busy plowing, 
Mr. Douglas; this rain is points in our favor. As for 
the women and children — poor souls ” — his voice soft- 
ened infinitely — “ tliey have been in our way terribly ; but 
— we shall fight all the better for that, by and by. Mean- 
while we have got to smash Delhi. The odds are bigger 
than they were first. But Baird Smith will sap us in 

somehow, and then ” He paused, looking kindly at 

Jim Douglas, and said, “ You had better stop and go in 
with — with the rest of us.” 

“ I think not, sir ” 

Why? Because of that poor lady? Woman again 
—eh?” 

“ In a way; besides, I really have nothing else to do.” 

John Nicholson looked at him for a moment from head 
to foot; then said sharply: 

“ I didn’t know, sir. I give my personal staff plenty 
of work.” 


394 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


For an instant the offer took his hearer’s breath away, 
and he stood silent. 

“ I'm afraid not, sir,” he said at last, though from the 
first he had known what his answer would be. “ I — I 
can’t, that’s the fact. I was cashiered from the army 
fifteen years ago.” 

General Nicholson stepped back, with sheer anger in 
his face. “ Then what do you mean, sir, by wearing Her 
Majesty’s uniform?” 

Jim Douglas looked down hastily on old Tiddu’s staff 
properties, which he had quite forgotten. They had 
passed muster in the darkness of the tent, but here, in the 
sunlight, looked inconceivably worn, and shabby, and un- 
real. Fie smiled rather bitterly; then held out his sleeve 
to show the braiding. 

^ “ It’s a general’s coat, sir,” he said defiantly. “ God 
knows what old duffer it belonged to; but I might have 
worn it first- instead of second-hand, if I hadn’t been a 
d d young fool.” 

The splendid figure drew itself .together formally, but 
the other’s pride was up too, and so for a minute the two 
men faced each other honestly, Nicholson’s eyes narrow- 
ing under their bent brows. 

“ What was it? A woman, I expect.” 

“ Perhaps. I don’t see that it matters.” 

A faint smile of approval rather took from the stern- 
ness of the military salute. “ Not at all. That ends it, 
of course.” 

“ Of course.” 

Not quite; for ere Jim Douglas could drop the cur- 
tain between himself and that brilliant, successful figure, 
it had turned sharply and laid a hand on his shoulder. 
A curiously characteristic hand — large, thin, smooth, and 
white as a woman’s, with a grip in it beyond most men’s. 

“ You have a vile habit of telling the truth to superior 
officers, Mr. Douglas. So have I. Shake hands on it.” 

With that hand on his shoulder, that clasp on his, Jim 
Douglas felt as if he were in the grip of Fate itself, and 
following John Nicholson’s example, gave it back frankly, 
freely. So, suddenly the whole face before him melted 
into perfect friendliness. “ Stick to it, man — stick to it! 


BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 


^ 9 ^ 


Save that poor lady — or — or kill somebody. It’s what 
we are all doing. As for the rest ” — the smile was almost 
boyish — “ I may get the sack myself before the general’s 
coat. I’m insubordinate enough, they tell me — but I 
shall have taken Delhi first. So — so good-luck to you ! ” 

As he walked away, he seemed to the eyes watching 
him bigger, more king-like, more heroic than ever; per- 
haps because they were dim with tears. But as Jim 
Douglas went off with a new cherfulness to see Hodson’s 
Horse jingle out on their lesson of peace, he told himself 
that the old scoundrel, Tiddu, had once more been right. 
Nikalseyn had the Great Gift. He could take a man’s 
heart out and look at it, and put it back sounder than it 
had been for years. He could put his own heart into a 
whole camp and make it believe it was its own. 

Such a clattering of hoofs and clinking of bits and 
bridles had been heard often before, but never with such 
gay light-heartedness. Only two days before a lesson 
had been given to the city. There had been no more har- 
rassing of pickets at night. Now the arm of the law was 
going coolly to reach out forty miles. It was a change 
indeed. And more than Jim Douglas watched the sun 
set red on the city wall that evening with a certain cont^ nt 
in their hearts. As for him, he seemed still to feel that 
grip, and hear the voice saying, “ Stick to it, man, stick 
to it! Save that poor lady or kill somebody. It’s what 
we are all doing.” 

He sat dreaming over the whole strange dream with 
a curious sense of comradeship and sympathy through it 
all, until the glow faded and left the city dark and stern 
beneath the storm-clouds which had been gathering all 
day. 

Then he rose and went back to his tent cheerfully. He 
would run no needless risks; he would not lose his head; 
but as soon as the doctors said it was safe, he would find 
and save Kate, or — kill somebody. That was the whole 
duty of man. 

Kate, however, had already been found, or rather she 
had never been lost; and when Tara, a few hours after 
Jim Douglas slipped out of the city, had gone to the roof 
to fetch away her spinning wheel, and finding the door 


39 ^ 


ON- THE EACE OF THE WATERS. 


padlocked on the inside, had in sheer bewilderment tried 
the effect of a signal knock, Kate had let her in as if, so 
poor Tara told herself, it was all to begin over again. 

All over again, e/en though she had spent those few 
hours of freedom in a perfect passion of purification, so 
that she might return to her saintship once more. 

The gold circlets were gone already, her head was 
shaven, the coarse white shroud had replaced the crim- 
son scarf. Yet here was the mem asking for the Huzoor, 
and setting her blood on fire with vague jealousies. 

She squatted down almost helplessly on the floor, 
answering all Kate’s eager questions, until suddenly in 
the midst of it all she started to her feet, and flung up her 
arms in the old wild cry for righteousness, “ I am suttee! 
before God 1 I am suttee ! ” 

Then she had said with a gloomy calm, “ I will bring 
the mem more food and drink. But I must think. Tiddu 
is away; Soma will not help. I am alone; but I am 
suttee.” 

Kate, frightened at her wild eyes, felt relieved when 
she was left alone, and inclined not to open the door to 
her again. She could manage, she told herself, as she 
had managed, for a few days, and by that time Mr. Grey- 
man would have come back. But as the long hours 
dragged by, giving her endless opportunity of thought, 
she began to ask herself why he should come back at all. 
She had not realized at first that he had escaped, that he 
was safe; that he was, as it were, quit of her. But he 
was, and he must remain so. A new decision, almost a 
content, came to her with the suggestion. She was busy 
in a moment over details. To begin with, no news must 
be sent. Then, in case he were to return, she must leave 
the roof. Tara might do so much for her, especially if 
it was made clear that it was for the master’s benefit. 
But Tara might never return. There had been that in 
her manner which hinted at such a possibility, and the 
stores she had brought in had been unduly lavish. In 
that case, Kate told herself, she would creep out some 
night, go back to the Princess Farkhoonda, and see if 
she could not help. If not, there was always the alterna- 


mrs, BRIDLES, SPURS. 


397 


tive of ending everything by going into the streets boldly 
and declaring herself a Christian. But she would appeal 
to these two women first. 

And as she sat resolving this, the two women were 
cursing her in their inmost hearts. For there had been 
no bangings of drums or thrumming of sutdras on N.e- 
wasi’s roof these three days. Abool-Bukr had broken 
away from her kind, detaining hand, and gone back 
to the intrigues of the Palace. So the Mufti’s quarter 
benefited in decent quiet, during which the poor Prin- 
cess began that process of weeping her eyes out, which 
left her blind at last. But not blind yet. And so she sat 
swaying gracefully before the book-rest, on which lay the 
Word of her God, her voice quavering sometimes over 
the monotonous chant, as she tried to distill comfort to 
her own heart from the proposition that “ He is Might 
and Right.” 

And far away in another quarter of the town Tara, 
crouched up before a mere block of stone, half hidden 
in flowers, was telling her beads feverishly. “ Rdm- 
RdmSita-Rdm ! ” That was the form she used for a 
whole tragedy of appeal and aspiration, remorse, despair, 
and hope. And as she muttered on, looking dully at the 
little row of platters she had presented to the shrine that 
morning — going far beyond necessity in her determi- 
nation to be heard — the groups of women coming in to 
lay a fresh chaplet among the withered ones and give a 
“ jow ” to the deep-toned bell hung in the archway in 
order to attract the god’s attention to their offering, 
paused to whisper among themselves of her piety. While 
more than once a widow crept close to kiss the edge of 
her veil humbly. 

It was balm indeed! It was peace. The mem might 
starve, she told herself fiercely, but she would be suttee. 
After all the strain, and the pain, and the wondering ache 
at her heart, she had come back to her own life. This 
she understood. Let the Huzoors keep to their own. 
This was hers. 

The sun danced in motes through the branches of the 
peepul tree above the little shrine, the squirrels chirruped 


393 


ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


among them, the parrots chattered, sending a rain of soft 
little figs to fall with a faint sound on the hard stones, and 
still Tara counted her beads feverishly. 

Ram-Rdm-Sita-Rdm! Rdm-Rdm-Sita-Rdm! ” 

“ Ari ! sisters ! she is a saint indeed. *She was here at 
dawn and she prays still,” said the women, coming in the 
lengthening shadows with odd little bits of feastings. A 
handful of cocoa-nut chips, a platter of flour, a dish of 
curds, or a dab of butter. 

“ Rdm-Rdm-Sita-Rdm! ” 

And all the while poor Tara was thinking of the 
Huzoor’s face, if he ever found out that she had left the 
mem to starve. It was almost dark when she stood up, 
abandoning the useless struggle, so she waited to see the 
sacred Circling of the Lights and get her little sip of holy 
water before she went back to her perch among the pig- 
eons, to put on the crimson scarf and the gold circlets 
again. Since it was hopeless trying to be a saint till she 
had done what she had promised the Huzoor she would 
do. She must go back to the mem first. 

But Kate, opening the door to her with eyes a-glitter 
and a whole cut-and-dried plan for the future, almost 
took her breath away, and reduced her into looking at 
the Englishwoman with a sort of fear. 

“ The mem will be suttee too,” she said stupidly, after 
listening a while. “ The mem will shave her head and 
put away her jewels! The mem will wear a widow’s 
shroud and sweep the floor, saying she comes from Ben- 
gal to serve the saint? ” 

“ I do not care, Tara, how it is done. Perhaps you 
may have a better plan. But we must prevent the mas- 
ter from finding me again. He has done too much for 
me as it is; you know he has,” replied Kate, her eyes 
shining like stars with determination. “ I only want you 
to save him; that is all. You may take me away and kill 
me if you like; and if you won’t help me to hide. I’ll go 
out into the streets and let them kill me there. I will not 
have him risk his life for me again.” 

^'Rdm-Rdm-Sita-Rdm!'' said Tara under her breath. 
That settled it, and at dawn the next day Tara stood in 
her odd little perch above the shrine among the pigeons, 


BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS, 


399 


looking down curiously at the mem who, wearied out by 
her long midnight walk through the city and all the ex- 
citement of the day, had dozed off on a bare mat in the 
corner, her head resting on her arm. Three months 
ago Kate could not have slept without a pillow; now, 
as she lay on the hard ground, her face looked soft and 
peaceful in sheer honest dreamless sleep. But Tara had 
not slept; that was to be told from the anxious strain of 
her eyes. She had sat out since she had returned home, 
on her two square yards of balcony in the waning moon- 
light, looking down on the unseen shrine, hidden by the 
tall peepul tree whose branches she could almost touch. 

Would the mem really be suttee? she had asked herself 
again and again. Would she do so much for the master? 
Would she — would she really shave her head? A grim 
smile of incredulity came to Tara’s face, then a quick, 
sharp frown of pain. If she did, she must care very much 
for the Huzoor. Besides, she had no right to do it! The 
mems were never suttee. They married again many 
times. And then this mem was married to someone else. 
No! she would never shave her head for a strange man. 
She might take off her jewels, she might even sweep the 
floor. But shave her head? Never! 

But supposing she did? 

The oddest jumble of jealousy and approbation filled 
Tara’s heart. So, as the yellow dawn broke, she bent 
over Kate. 

“ Wake, mem sahib! ” she said, wake. It is time to 
prepare for the day. It is time to get ready.” 

Kate started up, rubbing her eyes, wondering where 
she was; as in truth she well might, for she had never 
been in such a place before. The long, low slip of a room 
was absolutely empty save for a reed mat or two; but 
every inch of it, floor, walls, ceiling, was freshly plastered 
with mud. That on the floor was still wet, for Tara had 
been at work on it already. Over each doorway hung a 
faded chaplet, on each lintel was printed the mark of a 
bloody hand, and round and about, in broad finger-marks 
of red and white, ran the eternal Rdm-Rdm-Sita-Rdm in 
Sanskrit letterings. In truth, Tara’s knowledge of secu- 
lar and religious learning was strictly confined to this 


400 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

sentence. There was a faint smell of incense in the 
room, rising from a tiny brazier sending up a blue spiral 
flame of smoke before a two-inch high brass idol with an 
elephant’s head which sat on a niche in the wall. It rep- 
resented Eternal Wisdom. But Kate did not know this. 
Nor in a way did Tara. She only knew it was Gunesh- 
jee. And outside was the yellow dawn, the purple 
pigeons beginning to coo and sidle, the quivering hearts 
of the peepul leaves. 

“ I have everything ready for the mem,” began Tara 
hurriedly, “ if she will take off her jewels.” 

“ You must pull this one open for me, Tara,” said 
Kate, holding out her arm with the gold bangle on it. 
“ The master put it on for me, and I have never had it 
off since.” 

Tara knew that as well as she. Knew that the master 
must have put it on, since she had not. Had, in fact, 
watched it with jealous eyes over and over again. And 
there was the mem without it, smiling over the scantiness 
and the intricacies of a coarse cotton shroud. 

“ There is the hair yet,” said Tara with quite a catch in 
her voice; “if the mem will undo the plaits, I will go 
round to the old poojarnis and get the loan of her 
razor — she only lives up the next stair.” 

“We shall have to snip it off first,” said Kate quite 
eagerly, for, in truth, she was becoming interested in her 
own adventures, now that she had, as it were, the con- 
trol over them. “ It is so long.” She held up a tress as 
she spoke. It was beautiful hair; soft, wavy, even, and 
the dye — unrenewed for days — had almost gone, leaving 
the coppery sheen distinct. 

“ She would never cut it off! ” said Tara to herself as 
she went for the razor. No woman would ever shave 
her head willingly. Why! when she had had it done 
for the first time, she had screamed and fought. Her 
mother-in-law had held her hands, and 

She paused at the door as she re-entered, paralyzed by 
what she saw. Kate had found the knife Tara used for 
her limited cooking, and, seated on the ground cheer- 
fully, was already surrounded by rippling hair which she 
had cut off by clubbing it in her hand and sawing away 
as a groom does at a horse’s tail. 


BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 


401 


Tara's cry made her pause. The next moment the 
Rajpootni had snatched the knife from her and flung it 
one way, the razor another, and stood before her with 
blazing eyes and heaving breast. 

“It is foolishness!” she said fiercely. “The mems 
cannot be suttee. I will not have it.” 

Kate stared at her. “ But I must ” she began. 

“ There is no must at all,” interrupted Tara superbly; 
“ I will find some other way.” And then she bent over 
quickly, and Kate felt her hands upon her hair. “ There 
is plenty left,” she said with a sigh of relief. “ I will 
plait it up so that no one will see the difference.” 

And she did. She put the gold bangle on again also, 
and by dawn the next day Kate found herself once more 
installed as a screened woman; but this time as a Hindoo 
lady under a vow of silence and solitude in the hopes of 
securing a son for her lord through the intercession of 
old Anunda, the Swami. 

“ I have told Sri Anunda,” said Tara with a new 
respect in her manner. “ I had to trust someone. And 
he is as God. He would not hurt a fly.” She paused, 
then went on with a tone of satisfaction, “ But he says 
the mem could not have been suttee, so that foolishness 
is well over.” 

“ But what is to be done next, Tara?” asked Kate, 
looking in astonishment round the wide old garden, 
arched over*by tall forest trees, and set round with high 
walls, in which she found herself. In the faint dawn she 
could just see glimmering straight paths parceling it out 
into squares; and she could hear the faint tinkle of the 
water runnels. “ I can’t surely stop here.” 

“ The mem will only have to keep still all day in the 
darkest corner with her face to the wall,” said Tara. 
“ Sri Anunda will do the rest. And when Soma returns 
he must take the mem away before the thirty regiments 
come and the trouble begins.” 

“ Thirty regiments! ’! echoed Kate, startled. 

“ He and others have gone out to see if it is true. 
They say so in the Palace; but it is full of lies,” said 
Tara indifferently. 

It was indeed. More than ever. But they began to 


402 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

need confirmation, and so there was big talk of action, 
and jingling of bits and bridles and spurs in the city as 
well as in the camp. They were to intercept the siege 
train from Firozpur; they were to get round to the rear 
of the Ridge and overwhelm it. They were to do every- 
thing save attack it in face. 

And, meanwhile, other people besides Soma and 
such-like Sadducean sepoys had gone out to find the 
thirty regiments, and secret scouts from the Palace were 
hunting about for someone to whom they might deliver a 
letter addressed 

‘^To the Officers, Subadars, Chiefs, and others of the 

whole military force coming from the Bombay Presi- 
dency : 

“ To the effect that the statement of the defeat of the 
Royal troops at Delhi is a false and lying fabrication con- 
trived by contemptible infidels — the English. The true 
story is that nearly eighty or ninety thousand organized 
Military Troops, and nearly ten or fifteen thousand regu- 
lar and other Cavalry, are now here in Delhi. The 
troops are constantly engaged, night and day, in attacks 
on the infidels, and have driven back their batteries from 
the Ridge. In three or four days, please God, the whole 
Ridge will be taken, when every one of the base unbe- 
lievers will be sent to hell. You are, therefore, on seeing 
this order, to use all endeavors to reach the Royal Pres- 
ence, so, joining the Faithful, give proofs of zeal, and 
establish your renown. Consider this imperative.” 

But though they hunted high and low, east, north, 
south, and west, the Royal scouts found no one to re- 
ceive the order. So it came back to Delhi, damp and 
pulpy; for the rains had begun again, turning great 
tracts of country into marsh and bog, and generally 
wetting the blankets in which the sepoys kept guard 
sulkily. 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END, 


403 


CHAPTER III. 

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 

They drenched Kate Erlton also, despite the arcaded 
trees above her corner as she sat with her face to the 
wall in the wide old garden. At first her heart beat at 
each step on the walk behind her, but she soon realized 
that she was hidden by her vow, happed about from the 
possibility of intrusion by her penance. But not many 
steps came by her; they kept chiefly to the other end of 
the garden where Sri Anunda was to be found. It was 
a curious experience. There was a yard of two of thatch, 
screened by matting and suported by bamboos, leaning 
not far off against the wall; and into this she crept at 
night to find the indulgence of a dry blanket. At first she 
felt inclined to seek its shelter when the rain poured 
loudly on the leaves above her and fell thence in big 
blobs, making a noise like the little ripe figs when the 
squirrels shook them down; but the remembrance that 
such women as Tara performed like vows cheerfully 
kept her steady. And after a day or two she often 
started to find it was already noon or dusk, the day half 
gone or done. Time slipped by with incredible swiftness 
in watching the squirrels and the birds, in counting the 
raindrops fall from a peepul leaf. Arid what a strange 
peace and contentment the life brought! As she sat 
after dark in the thatch, eating the rice and milk and 
fruit which Tara brought her stealthily, she felt, at times, 
a terrified amaze at herself. If she ever came through 
the long struggle for life, this surely would be the 
strangest part of the dream. Tara, indeed, used to re- 
mark with a satisfied smile that though the mem could 
not of course be suttee, still she did very well as a devoted 
and repentant wife. Sri Anunda could never have had 
a better penitent. And then, in reply to Kate’s curious 
questions, she would say that Sri Anunda was a Swami. 
If the mem once saw and spoke to him she would know 
what that meant. He had lived in the garden for fifteen 
years. Not as a penance. A Swami needed no penance 


404 ON THE Pace of the waters. 

as men and women did; for he was not a man. Oh, dear 
no! not a man at all. 

So Kate, going on this hint of inhumanity, and guided 
by her conventional ideas of Hindoo ascetics, imagined 
a monstrosity, and felt rather glad than otherwise that 
Sri Anunda kept out of her way. 

She was eager also to know how long she might have 
to stay in his garden. The vow, Tara said, lasted for 
fifteen days. Till then no one would question her right 
to sit and look at the wall; and by that time Soma would 
have returned, and a plan for getting the mem away to 
the Ridge settled. For the master was evidently not go- 
ing to return to the city; perhaps he had forgotten the 
mem? Kate smiled at this, drearily, thinking that in- 
deed he might; for he might be dead. But even this 
uncertainty about all things, save that she sat and 
watched the squirrels and the birds, had ceased to dis- 
turb her peace. 

As a matter of fact, however, he was thinking of her 
more than ever, and with a sense of proprietorship that 
was new to him. Here, by God’s grace, was the one 
woman for him to save; the somebody to kill, should he 
fail, needing no selection. There were enough enemies 
and to spare within the walls still, even though they had 
been melting away of late. But a new one had come to 
the Ridge itself, which, though it killed few, sapped 
steadily at the vigor of the garrison. This was the 
autumnal fever, bad at Delhi in all years, worse than 
usual in this wet season, counterbalancing the benefit of 
the coolness and sending half a regiment to hospital one 
day and letting them out of it the next, sensibly less fit 
for arduous work. It claimed Jim Douglas, already 
weakened by it, and made his wound slow of healing. 

“ You haven’t good luck certainly,” said Major Erlton, 
finding him with chattering teeth taking quinine dismally. 
‘‘ I don’t know how it is, but though I’m a lot thinner, 
this life seems to suit me. I haven’t felt so fit for ages.” 

He had not been so fit, in truth. It was a healthier, 
simpler life than he had led for many a long year; and 
ever since John Nicholson had bidden him go back to 
his tent and sleep, even the haggardness had left his face; 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 40 ^ 

the restlessness having been replaced by an eager cer- 
tainty of success. He was coming steadily to the front, 
too, so the Ridge said, since Nicholson had taken him up. 
And he had well deserved this, since there was not a bet- 
ter soldier; cool, stubborn, certain to carry out orders. 
The very man, in short, which men like the General 
wanted; and if he stayed to the finish he would have a 
distinguished career before him. 

But Herbert Erlton himself never thought of this; he 
hated thought instinctively, and of late had even given up 
thinking of the city. He never sat and watched the rose- 
red walls now. Perhaps because he was too busy. So 
he left that to Jim Douglas, who had nothing else to do> 
while he went about joyously preparing to accompany 
Nicholson in his next lesson of law and order. 

For in the city it was becoming more and more difficult 
every day to make the lies pass muster, even in the Pal- 
ace; and so, in despair, the four Commanders-in-Chief 
for once had laid their heads together and concocted a 
plan for intercepting the siege train from Ferozpur. So 
it was necessary that they should be taught the futility 
of such attempts. Not that even the Palace people really 
believed them possible. How could they? when almost 
every day, now, letters came to the Ridge from some 
member or another of the Royal family asking effusively 
how he could serve the English cause. Only the old 
King, revising his lists of precedence, listening still to 
brocaded bags, taking cooling draughts, making coup- 
lets, being cozened by the Queen, and breathed upon 
by Hussan Askuri, hovered between the policy of being 
the great Moghul and a poor prisoner in the hands of 
fate. But the delights of the former were too much for 
him as a rule, and he would sit and finger the single gold 
coin which had come as a present from Oude as if he 
were to have the chance of minting millions with a simi- 
lar inscription. 

- Bahadur Shah Ghazee has struck upon gold the coin 
of Victory.” 

Even in its solitary grandeur it had, in truth, a sur- 
passing dignity of its own in the phrase — “ struck upon 
gold the coin of Victory.” So, looking at it, he forgot 


4o6 


OAT THE PACE OE THE WATERS. 


that it was a mere sample, sent, as the accompanying 
brocaded bag said, with a promise to pay more when 
more victory brought more gold. But Zeenut Maihl, as 
she looked at it, thought with a sort of fury of certain gold 
within reach, hidden in her house. What was to become 
of these coins with John Company’s mark on them? For 
she still lingered in the Palace. Other women had fled, 
but she was wiser than they. She knew that, come what 
might, her life was safe with the English as victors; so 
there was nothing but the gold to think of. The gold, 
and Jewun Bukht, her son. The royal signet was in her 
possession altogether now, and sometimes the orders, 
especially when they were for payment of money, had to 
go without it, because “ the Queen of the World was 
asleep.” But she did not dream. That was over; though 
in a way sh^ clung fiercely to hope. So Ghans Khan 
with the Neemuch Brigade, and Bukht Khan with the 
Bareilly Brigade, and Khair Sultan with the scrapings 
and leavings of the regiments, who, owning no leader of 
their own, did what was right in their own eyes, set out 
to intercept the big guns; and Nicholson set out on the 
dawn of the 25th to intercept them. 

The rain poured down in torrents, the guns sank to 
their axles in mud, the infantry slipped and slithered, 
the cavalry were blinded by the mire from the flounder- 
ing horses. So from daybreak till sunset the little force, 
two thousand in all — more than one-half of whom were 
natives — labored eighteen miles through swamps. At 
noon, it is true, they called a halt nine miles out at a 
village where the women clustered on the housetops in 
wild alarm, remembering a day — months back — when 
they had clustered round an unleavened cake, and the 
head-man’s wife had bidden them listen to the master’s 
gun over the far horizon. 

They were to listen to it again that day. For the 
enemy was ten miles further over the marshes; and it 
was but noon. The force, no doubt, had been afoot since 
four; but General Nicholson was emphatically not an 
eight-hour man. So the shovings and slitherings of 
guns and mortals began again cheerfully. 

Still it was nigh on sundown when, across a deep 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END, 407 

stream flowing from the big marshes to the west, these 
contract-workers came on the job they were eager to 
finish ere nightfall. Six thousand rebels of all _ arms, 
holding three villages, a bastioned old serai, and a town. 
It was a strong position, in the right angle formed by 
the stream and the flooded canal into which it flowed. 
Water, impassable save by an unknown ford in the 
stream, by a bridge held in force over the canal, on two 
sides of it. On the others dismal swamps. A desper- 
ately strong position to attack at sundown after eighteen 
miles slithering and shoving in the pouring rain; espe- 
cially with unknown odds against you. Not less, any- 
how, than three to one. But John Nicholson had a 
single eye; that is, an eye which sees one salient point. 
Here, it was that bridge to the left, leading back to safe 
shelter within the walls of Delhi. A cowardly foe must 
have no chance of using that bridge during silent night 
watches. So, without a pause, fifteen hundred of the 
two thousand waded breast-high across the stream to 
attack the six thousand, Nicholson himself riding ahead 
for a hasty reconnoissance, since the growing dusk left 
scant leisure for anything save action. Yet once more 
a glance was sufficient; and, ere the men, exposed to a 
heavy fire of grape in crossing the ford, were ready to 
advance, the orders were given. 

There was a hint of cover in some rising ground before 
the old serai — the strongest point of the defense. He 
would utilize this, rush the position, change front, and 
sweep down on the bridge. That must not remain as a 
chance for cowards an instant longer than he could help; 
for Nicholson in everything he did seems never to have 
contemplated defeat. 

So flanked by the guns, supported by squadrons of 
the 9th Lancers and the Guides cavalry, the three regi- 
ments marched steadily toward the rising ground, fol- 
lowing thar colossal figure riding, as ever, ahead. Till 
suddenly, as his charger’s feet touched the highest 
ground, Nicholson w^lSd and held up his hand to those 
below him. 

Lie down, men! ” came his clear strong voice as he 

* 6ist, 1st Fusiliers, 2d Punjabees, 


4 o 8 on the face OF THE WATERS. 

rode slowly along the line; lie down and listen to what 
I’ve got to say. It’s only a few words.” 

So, sheltered from the fire, they lay and listened. 
“ You of the 6ist know what Sir Colin Campbell said 
to you at Chillian wallah. He said the same thing 
to others at the Alma. I say it to you all now. ' Hold 
your fire till within twenty or thirty yards of that battery, 
and then, my boys! we will make short work of it! ’ ” 

Men cannot cheer lying on their stomachs, but the 
unmelodious grunt — We will, sir, by God, we will! ” — 
was as good as one. 

Nicholson faced round on the serai again, and gave 
the order to the artillery. So, in sharp thuds widening 
into a roar, the flanking guns began work. Half a dozen 
rounds or so, and then the rider — motionless as a statue 
in the center — looked back quickly, waved his sword, 
and went on. The men were up, after him, over the 
hillock, into the morass beyond, silently. 

“ Steady, men! steady with it. On with you! Steady! ” 

They listened to the clear sonorous voice once more, 
though there was no shelter now from the grape and 
canister, and musket balls; or rather only the shelter of 
that one tall figure ahead riding at a foot’s-pace. 

“ Steady ! Hold your fire ! I’ll give the word, never 
fear ! Come on ! Come on ! ” 

So through a perfect bog they stumbled on doggedly. 
Here and there a man fell; but men will fall sometimes. 

‘‘ Now then! Let them have it.” 

They were within the limit. Twenty yards off lay the 
guns. There was one furious volley ; above it one word 
answered by a cheer. 

So at the point of the bayonet the serai was carried. 
Then without a pause the troops changed front with a 
swiftness unforeseen and swept on to the left. 

“To Delhi, brothers! To Delhi!” The old cry, 
begun at Meerut, rose now with a new meaning as the 
panic-stricken guns limbered up and made for the 
bridge. Too late! Captain Blunt’s were after them, 
chasing them. The wheel of the foremost, driven wildly, 
jammed; those following couldn’t pull up. So, helter 
gkelter, they were in ^ jumble,, out of which Englishmen 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 409 

helped the whole thirteen ! The day, or rather the night, 
was won; for Nature’s dark flag of truce hung even 
between the assailants and the few desperate defenders 
of the third village, who, with escape cut off, were selling 
their lives at a cost, already, of seventeen out of a total 
death-roll of twenty-five, to the victors. But Nicholson 
knew his position sure, so he left night to finish the rout, 
and, with his men, bivouacked without food or cover 
among the marshes; for it was too dark to get the bag- 
gage over the ford. Yet the troops were ready to start 
at daybreak for an eighteen miles tramp back to the 
Ridge again. There was no talk of exhaustion now, as 
at Budli-ke-serai ; so just thirty-six hours after they 
started, that is, just one hour for every mile of morass 
and none for the fight, they startled the Ridge by march- 
ing in again and clamoring for food! But Nicholson 
was in a towering temper. He had found that another 
brigade had been lurking behind the canal, and that if 
he had had decent information he might have smashed 
it also, on his way home. 

“ He hadn’t even a guide that he didn’t pick up him- 
self,” commented Major Erlton angrily. “ By George! 
how those niggers cave in to him! And his political 
information was all rot. If the General had obeyed 
instructions he would have been kicking his heels at 
Bahadagurh still.” 

''We heard you at it about two o’clock,” said a new 
listener. " I suppose it was a night attack — risky busi- 
ness rather.” 

Herbert Erlton burst into a laugh; but the elation on 
his face had a pathetic tenderness in it. " That was the 
bridge, I expect. He blew it up before starting. He sat 
on it till then. Besides there were the wagons and tum- 
brils and things. He told Tombs to blow them up, too, 
for of course he had to bring the guns back, and he 
couldn’t shove the lot.” 

As he passed on some of his listeners smiled. 

" It’s a case of possession,” said one to his neighbor. 

" Pardon me,” said another, who had known the 
Major for years. “ It’s a case of casting out. I won- 
der ” The speaker paused and shrugged his 

ghoulders. 


410 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

“ Did you hear his name had gone up for the V. C.? ” 
began his companion. 

“ Gone up! My dear fellow! It might have gone up 
fifty times over. But it isn’t his pluck that I wonder at; 
it is his steadiness. He never shirks the little things. It 
is almost as if he had found a conscience.” 

Perhaps he had. He was cheerful enough to have had 
the testimony of a good one, as, in passing, he looked in 
on Jim Douglas and met his congratulations. 

“ Bad shilling! ” replied the Major, beautifully uncon- 
scious. ‘'So you’ve heard — and — hello! what’s up?” 
For Jim Douglas was busy getting into disguise. 

“ That old scoundrel Tiddu came into camp with the 
news an hour ago,” said the latter, whose face was by 
no means cheerful. “ He was out carrying grain — saw! 
the fugitives, and came in here, hoping for backsheesh, 
I believe. But” — Jim Douglas looked round rapidly at 
the Major — “ I’m awfully afraid, Erlton, that he has not' 
been in Delhi, to speak of, since I left. And I was rely- 
ing on him for news ” 

“ There isn’t any — is there? ” broke in Major Erlton 
with a queer hush in his voice. 

“ None. But there may be. So I’m off at once. I 
couldn’t have a better chance. The villain says the 
sepoys are slipping in on the sly in hundreds; for the 
Palace folk, or at least the King, thinks the troops are 
still engaged, and is sending out reinforcements. So I 
shall have no trouble in getting through the gates.” 

Major Erlton, radiant, splashed from head to foot, cov- 
ered at once with mud and glory, looked at the man 
opposite him with a curious deliberation. 

“ I don’t see why you should go at all,” he said slowly. 
“ I wouldn’t, if I — I mean I would rather you didn’t.” 

“Why?” The question came sharply. 

“Do you want the truth?” asked Herbert Erlton 
with a sudden frown. 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Then I’ll tell it, Mr. Greyman — I mean Douglas — 

I — I’m grateful, but — d n me, sir, if — if I want to be 

more so! I — I gave you my chance once — like a fool; 
for I might have saved her 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END, 4 ” 

The hard handsome face was all broken up with pas- 
sionate regret, and the pity of it kept Jim Douglas silent 
for a moment. For he understood it. 

“ You might,” he said at last. “ But I don’t interfere 
with you here. You can’t save her — your wife, I mean — 
and if I fail you can always ” 

“ There is no need to tell me what to do then,” inter- 
rupted Major Erlton grimly. I’ll do it without your 
help.” 

He turned on his heel, then paused. “ It isn’t that 
I’m ungrateful,” he repeated, almost with an appeal in 
his voice. “And I don’t mean to be offensive; only 
you and I can’t ” 

His own mental position seemed beyond him, and he 
stood for a moment irresolute. Then he held out his 
hand. 

“ Well, good-by. I suppose you mean to stick to it? ” 

“ I mean to stick to it. Good-by.” 

“ And I must be off to my bed. Haven’t slept a wink 
for two nights, and I shall be on duty to-rriorrow. Well! 
I believe I’ve as good a chance of, seeing Kate here as 
you have of finding her there; but I can’t prevent your 
going, of course.” 

So he went off to his bed, and Jim Douglas, following 
Tiddu, who was waiting for him in the Koodsia Gar- 
dens, carried out his intention of sticking to it; while 
John Nicholson in his tent, forgetful of his advice to both 
of them, was jotting down notes for his dispatch. One 
of them was : “ The enemy was driven from the serai 

with scarcely any loss to us, and made little resistance as 
we advanced.” The other was: “Query? How many 
men in buckram? Most say seven or eight thousand. 
I think between three and four.” 

He had, indeed, a vile habit of telling the truth, even 
in dispatches. So ended the day of Nujjufghar. 

The next morning, the 27th, broke fine and clear. 
Kate Erlton waking with the birds, found the sky full of 
light already, clear as a pale topaz beyond the over- 
arching trees. 

She stood after leaving her thatch, looking into the 
garden, lost in a sort of still content. It seemed impos- 


412 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

sible she should be in the heart of a big city. There was 
no sound but the faint rustling of the wet leaves drying 
themselves in the soft breeze, and the twitterings of 
squirrels and birds. There was nothing to be seen but 
the trees, and the broad paths rising above the flooding 
water from the canal-cut which ran at the further side. 

And Sri Anunda had lived here for fifteen years ; while 
she? How long had she been there? She smiled to 
herself, for, in truth, she had lost count of days alto- 
gether, almost of Time itself. She was losing hold of 
life. She told herself this, with that vague amaze at 
finding it so. Yes! she was losing her grip on this 
world without gaining, without even desiring, a hold on 
the next. She was learning a strange new fellowship 
with the dream of which she was a part, because it would 
soon be past; because the trees, the flowers, the birds, 
the beasts,' were mortal as herself. A squirrel, its tail 
a-fluff, was coming down the trunk of the next tree in 
fitful half-defiant jerks, its bright eyes watching her. 
The corner of her veil was full of the leavings of her 
simple morning meal, which she always took with her 
to scatter under the trees; and now, in sudden impulse, 
she sank down to her knees and held a morsel of plantain 
out tenderly. 

Dear little mortal, she thought, with a new tenderness, 
watching it as it paused uncertain; until the conscious- 
ness that she was being watched in her turn made her 
look up; then pause, as she was, astonished, yet not 
alarmed, at the figure before her. It was neither tall nor 
short, dark nor fair, and it was wrapped from knee to 
shoulder in a dazzling white cloth draped like a Greek 
chiton, which showed the thin yet not emaciated curves 
of the limbs, and left the poise of the long throat bare. 
The head was clean shaven, smooth as the cheek, and 
the face, destitute even of eyebrows, was softly seamed 
with lines and wrinkles which seemed to leave it younger, 
and brighter, as if in an eternity of smile-provoking con- 
tent. But the eyes! Kate felt a strange shock, as they 
brought back to her the innocent dignity Raphael gave 
to his San-Sistine Bambino. For this was Sri Anunda; 
tou}d ‘be no pn^ else. In his band he held a bunch of 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 413 

henna-blossom, the camphire of Scripture, the cypress of 
the Greeks; yellowish green, insignificant, incomparably 
sweet. He held it out to her, smiling, then laid it on her 
outstretched hand. 

“ The lesson is learned, sister,” he said softly. “ Go 
in peace, and have no fear.” 

The voice, musical exceedingly, thrilled her through 
and through. She knelt looking after him regretfully 
as, without a pause, he passed on his way. So that was 
a Swami! She went back to her corner — for already 
early visitors were drifting in for Sri Anunda’s bless- 
ing — and with the bunch of henna-blossom on the 
ground before her sat thinking. 

What an extraordinary face it was ! So young, so old. 
So wise, so strangely innocent. Tara was right. It 
was not a man’s face. Yet it could not be called angelic, 
for it was the face of a mortal. Yes! that was it, a mor- 
tal face immortal through its mortality; through the 
circling wheel of life and death. The strong perfume of 
the flowers reaching her, set her a-thinking of them. 
Did he always give a bunch when the penance was over 
and say the lesson was learned? It was a significant 
choice, these flowers of life and death. For bridal hands 
had been stained with henna, and corpses embalmed 
with it for ages, and ages, and ages. Or was that “ peace 
go with you,” that “ have no fear ” meant as an en- 
couragement in something new? Had they been making 
plans? had anything happened? She scarcely seemed 
to care. So, as the cloudless day passed on, she sat 
looking at the henna-blossom and thinking of Sri 
Anunda’s face. 

But something had happened. Jim Douglas had come 
back to the city and Tara knew it. She had barely 
escaped his seeing her, and she felt she could not escape 
it long. And then, it seemed to her, the old life would 
begin again; for she would never be able to keep the 
truth from him. The mem might talk of deceit glibly; 
but if it came to telling lies to the master she would fail. 

There was only one chance. If she could get the mem 
safely out of the city at once; then she could tell the 
truth without fear. The necessity for immediate action 


414 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


came upon her by surprise. She had ceased to expect 
the master’s return, she had not cared personally for 
Kate’s safety, and so had been content to let the future 
take care of itself. But now everything was changed. 
If Kate were not got rid of, sent out of the city, one of 
two things must happen : The master must be left to get 
her out as best he could, at the risk of his life; or she, 
Tara, must return to the old allegiance; return and sit 
by, while the mem in a language she did not understand, 
told the Huzoor how she had been willing to be suttee 
for him! 

So while Kate sat looking at the henna-blossom, Tara 
sat telling herself that at all costs, all risks, she must be 
got out of the city that night. She, and her jewels. 
They were at present tied up in a bundle in Tara’s room, 
but the Huzoor might think her a thief if the mem 
went without them. And another thing she decided. 
She would not tell the mem the reason of this sudden 
action. True, Kate had professed herself determined 
that the master should not risk his life for her again; 
but women were not — not always — to be trusted. For 
the rest. Soma mu-st help. 

She waited till dusk, however, before appealing to 
him, knowing that her only chance lay in taking him by 
storm, in leaving him no time for reflection. So, just as 
the lights were beginning to twinkle in the bazaars, she 
made her way, full of purpose, to the half ruined sort of 
cell in the thickness of the wall not far from the sally- 
port, in which of late — since he had taken morosely to 
drugs — he was generally to be found at this time, wak- 
ing drowsily to his evening meal before going out. 

She found him thus, sure enough, and began at once 
on her task. He must help. He could easily pass out 
the mem. That was all she asked of him. But his 
handsome face settled into sheer obstinacy at once. He 
was not going to help anyone, he said, or harm anyone, 
till they struck the first blow, ^nd then they had better 
defend themselves. That was *the end. And so it 
seemed; for after ten minutes of entreaty, he stood up 
with something of a lurch ere he found his feet, and bid 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 415 

her go. She only wasted her time and his, since he must 
eat his food ere he went to relieve the sentry at the sally- 
port. 

She caught him up reproachfully, almost indignantly. 

“ Then thou art there, on guard! and it needs but the 
opening of a door, a thrusting of a woman out — to — die, 
perchance. Soma. Remember that!” 

She spoke with a feverish eagerness, as if the sugges- 
tion had its weight with her, but he treated it contemp- 
tuously. 

“ Loh! ” he said in scorn. “ What a woman’s word! 
Thank the Gods I was not born one.” 

The taunt bit deep, and Tara drew herself up angrily. 
So the brother and sister stood face to face, strangely 
alike. 

“ Was’t not? ” she retorted bitterly. "The Gods know. 
Is there not woman in man, and man in woman, among 
those born at a birth? Soma! for the sake of that — do 

this for me ” It was her last appeal; she had kept 

it for the last, and now her somber eyes were ablaze with 
passionate entreaty. "See, brother! I claim it of you 
as a right. Thou didst take my sainthood from me once. 
Count this as giving it back again.” 

" Back again? ” echoed Soma thickly. " What fool’s 
talk is this? ” 

" Let it be fool’s talk, brother,” she interrupted, with 
a strange intensity in her voice. " I care not — thou dost 
not know; I cannot tell thee. But — but this will be 
counted to thee in restitution. Soma! think of it as my 
sainthood! Sure thou dost owe me it! Soma! for the 
sake of the hand which lay in thine.” 

In her excitement she moved a step forward, and he 
shrank back instinctively. True, she was a saint in an- 
other way if those scars were true; but — at the moment, 
being angry with her, he chose to doubt, to remember. 
"Stand back!” he cried roughly, unsteadily. "What 
do I owe thee? What claim hast thou? ” 

The question, the gesture outraged her utterly. The 
memory of a whole life of vain struggling after self- 
respect surged to her brain, bringing that almost insane 


4i6 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


light to her eyes. “ What? ” she echoed fiercely — 
“ this! ’’ Ere he could prevent it, her hand was in his, 
gripping it like a vice. 

“ So in the beginning — so in the end! ’’ she gasped, as 
he struggled with her madly. “ Tara and Soma hand in 
hand. Nay! I am strong as thou.” 

She spoke truth, for his nerve and muscle were slack 
with opium; yet he fought wildly, striking at her with 
his left hand, until in a supreme effort she lost her foot- 
ing, they both staggered, and he — as she loosed her 
hold — fell backward, striking his head against a project- 
ing brick in the ruined wall. 

“ Soma! ” she whispered to his prostrate figure, “art 
hurt, brother? Speak to me! ” 

But he lay still, and, with a cry, she flung herself on 
her knees beside him, feeling his heart, listening to his 
breathing, searching for the injury. It was a big cut on 
the crown of the head; but it did not seem a bad one, 
and she began to take his unconsciousness more calmly. 
She had seen folk like that before from a sudden fall, and 
they came to themselves, none the worse, after a while. 
But scarcely, here, in time to relieve guard. 

She stood up suddenly and looked round her. Soma’s 
uniform hung on a peg, his musket stood in a corner. 

Half an hour after this, Kate, waiting in the thatch 
for Tara to come as usual, gave a cry, more of surprise 
than alarm, as a tall figure, in uniform, stepped into the 
flickering light of the cresset. 

“ Soma! ” she cried, “ what is it? ” 

A gratified smile came to the curled mustachios. 
“ Soma or Tara, it matters not,” replied a familiar voice. 
“ They were one in the beginning. Quick, mem-sahib. 
On with the jewels. I have a dark veil too for the gate.” 

Kate stood up, her heart throbbing. “ Am I to go, 
then? Is that what Sri Anunda meant? ” 

“Sri Anunda! hath he been here?” Tara paused, 
sniffed, and once more those dark eyes met the light 
ones with a fierce jealousy. “ He hath given thee henna- 
blossom. I smell it ; and he gives' it to none but those 

who So the Swami’s lesson is learned — and the 

disciple can go in peace ” She broke off with a 


THE BEGWmHG OE THE END. 


m 

petulant laugh. “Well! so be it. It ends my part. 
The mem will sleep among her own to-night; Sri 
Anunda hath said it. Come ” 

“ But how? I must know how/' protested Kate. 

The laugh rose again. “ Wherefore? The mem is 
Sri Anunda’s disciple. For the rest, I will let the mem 
out through the little river-gate. There is a boat, and 
she can go in peace." 

There was something so wild, so almost menacing in 
Tara's face, that Kate felt her only hope was to obey. 
And, in good sooth, the scent of the henna-blossom she 
carried with her, tucked into her bosom, gave her, some- 
how, an irrational hope that all would go well as she 
followed her guide swiftly through the alleys and 
bazaars. 

“ The mem must wait here," whispered Tara at last, 
pausing behind one of the ungainly mausoleums in what 
had been the old Christian cemetery. “ When she hears 
me singing Sonny-baba’s song, she must follow to the 
Water-gate. It is behind the ruins, there." 

Kate crouched down, setting her back, native fashion, 
against the tomb. And as she waited she wondered idly 
what mortal lay there; so, being strangely calm, she let 
her fingers stray to the recess she felt behind her. There 
should be a marble tablet there ; and even in the dark 
she might trace the lettering. But the recess was empty, 
the marble having evidently been picked out. So it was 
a nameless grave. And the next? She moved over to 
it stealthily, then to the next. But the tablets had been 
taken out of all and carried off — for curry-stones most 
likely. So the graves were nameless; those beneath 
them mortals — nothing more. As she waited under the 
stars, her mind reverted to Sri Anunda and the Wheel of 
Life and Death. The immortality of mortality! Was 
that the lesson which was to let her go in peace? 

She started from the thought as that native version of 
the “ Happy Land " came, nasally, from behind the ruins. 
As she passed them, a group of men were squatted gos- 
siping round a hookah, and more than one figure passed 
her. But a woman with her veil drawn, and a clank of 
anklets on her feet, did not even invite a curious eye; 


4 i 8 on the face OF THE WATERS. 

for it was still early enough for such folk to be going 
home. 

Then, as she passed down a flight of steps, a hand stole 
out from a niche and drew her back into a dark shadow. 
The next minute, with a low whisper, “ There is no fear! 
Sri Anunda hath said it. Go in peace! ’’ she felt herself 
thrust through a door into darkness. But a feeble 
glimmer showed below her, and creeping down another 
flight of steps, she found herself outside Delhi, looking 
over the strip of low-lying land where in the winter the 
buffaloes had grazed beneath Alice Gissing’s house, but 
which was now flooded into a still backwater by the ris- 
ing of the river. And out of it the stunted kikar and 
tamarisks grew strangely, their feathery branches arch- 
ing over it. But to the left, beyond the Water Bastion,, 
rose a mass of darker foliage — the Koodsia Gardens. 
Once there she would be beyond floods, and Tara had 
said there was a boat. Kate found it, moored a little 
further toward the river — a flat-bottomed punt, with a 
pole. It proved easier to manage than she had ex- 
pected; for the water was shallow, and the trunks and 
branches of the trees helped her to get along, so that 
after a time she decided on keeping to that method of 
progress as long as she could. It enabled her to skirt 
the river bank, where there were fewer lights telling of 
watch-fires. Besides, she knew the path by the river 
leading to Metcalfe House. It might be under water 
now; but if she crept into the park at the ravine — if she 
could take the boat so far — she might manage to reach 
Metcalfe House. There was an English picket there, 
she knew. So, as she mapped out her best way, a sud- 
den recollection came to her of the last time she had seen 
that river path, when her husband and Alice Gissing 
were walking down it, and Captain Morecombe 

Ah! was it credible? Was it not all a dream? Could 
this be real — could it be the same world? 

She asked herself the question with a dull indifference 
as she struggled on doggedly. 

But not more than two hours afterward the conviction 
that the world had not changed came upon her with a 
strange pang as she stood once more on the terrace of 
Metcalfe House with English faces around her. 


AT LAST. 


419 


‘‘By Heaven, it’s Mrs. Erlton! ” she heard a familiar 
voice say. It seemed to her hundreds of miles away in 
some far, far country to which she had been journeying 
for years. “Here! let me get hold of her — and fetch 
some water — wine — anything. How — how was it. Ser- 
geant? ” 

“ In a boat, sir, coming hand over hand down at the 
stables. She sang out quite calmly she was an English- 
woman, and ” 

“ Then — then they touched their caps to me,” said 
Kate, making an effort, “ and so I knew that I was safe. 
It was so strange; it — it rather upset me. But I am all 
right now. Captain Morecombe.” 

“We had better send up for Erlton,” said another 
officer aside; but Kate caught the whisper. 

“ Please not. I can walk up to cantonments quite 
well. And — I would rather have no fuss — I — I couldn’t 
stand it.” 

She had stood enough and to spare, agreed the little 
knot of men with a thrill at their hearts as they watched 
her set off in the moonlight with Captain Morecombe 
and an orderly. They were to go straight to the Major’s 
tent ; and if he was still at mess, which was more than 
likely, since it was only half-past nine, Captain More- 
combe was to leave her there and go on with the news. 
There would be no fuss, of that she might be sure, said 
the latter, forbearing even to speak to her on the way, 
save to ask her if she felt all right. 

“ I feel as if I had just been born,” she said slowly. 
In truth, she was wondering if that spinning of the Great 
Wheel toward Life again brought with it this forlorn- 
ness, this familiarity. 

• 

CHAPTER IV. 

AT LAST. 

No fuss indeed! Kate, as she sat in her husband’s 
little tent waiting for him to come to her, felt that so far 
she might have arrived from a very ordinary journey. 
The bearer, it is true, who had been the Major’s valet for 


42 b ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 

years, had salaamed more profoundly than usual, had 
even put up a pious prayer, and expressed himself 
pleased; but he had immediately gone off to fetch hot 
water, and returning with it and clean towels, had sug- 
gested mildly that the mem might like to wash her face 
and hands. Kate, with a faint smile, felt there was no 
reason why she should not. She need not look worse 
than necessary. But she paused almost with a gasp at 
the familiar half-forgotten luxuries. Scented soap! a 
sponge — ^and there on the camp table a looking-glass! 
She glanced down with a start at the little round one in 
the ring she wore; then went over to the other. A toilet 
cover, brushes, and combs, her husband’s razors, gold 
studs in a box] dnd there, her own photograph in a 
frame, a Bible, and a prayer book, the latter things 
bringing her no surprise, no emotion of any kind. For 
they had always been fixtures on Major Erl ton’s dress- 
ing-table, mute evidences to no sentiment on his part, but 
simply to the bearer’s knowledge of . the proprieties and 
the ways of real sahibs. But the other things she saw 
made her heart grow soft. The little camp bed, the sim- 
plicity and hardness of all in comparison with what her 
husband had been wont to demand of life; for he’ had 
always been a real prince, feeling the rose-leaf beneath 
the feather bed, and never stinting himself in comfort. 
Then the swords, and belts, and Heaven knows what 
panoply of war— not spick-and-span decorations as they 
used to be in the old days, but worn and used — gave her 
a pang. Well! he had always been a good soldier, they 
said. 

And then, interrupting her thoughts, the old khansa- 
man had come in, having taken time to array himself 
gorgeously in livery. The Father of the fatherless and 
orphan, he said, whimperingly, alluding to the fact that 
he had lost both parents— which, considering he was 
past sixty, was only to be expected — had heard his 
prayer. The mem was spared to Freddy-baba. And 
would she please to order dinner. As the Major-sahib 
dined at mess, her slave was unprepared with a roast. 
Fish also would partake of tyranny; but he could open 


AT LAST. 


421 


a tin of Europe soup, and with a chicken cutlet — Kate 
cut him short with a request for tea; by and by, when — 
when the Major-sahib should have come. And when 
she was alone again, she shivered and rested her head on 
her crossed arms upon the table beside which she sat, 
with a sort of sob. This — Yes! — this of all she had 
come through was the hardest to bear. This surge of 
pity, of tenderness, of unavailing regret for the past, the 
present, the future. What? — What could she say to 
him, or he to her, that would make remembrance easier, 
anticipation happier? 

Hark! there was his step! His voice saying good- 
night to Captain Morecombe. 

“ I hope she will be none the worse,” came the reply. 
“ Good-night, Erlton — Tm — Tm awfully glad, old 
fellow.” 

“ Thanks!” 

She stood up with a sickening throb at her heart. Oh! 
she was glad too! So glad to see him and tell him 
to 

How tall he was, she thought, with a swift recognition 
of his good looks, as he came in, stooping to pass under 
the low entrance. Very tall, and thin. Much thinner, 
and — and — different somehow. 

“Kate!” He paused half a second, looking at her 
curiously — “Kate! Fm — Fm awfully glad.” He was 
beside her now, his big hands holding hers; but she felt 
that she was further away from him than she had been in 
that brief pause when she had half-expected, half-wished 
him to take her in his arms and kiss her as if nothing 
had happened, as if life were to begin again. It would 
have been so much easier; they might have forgotten 
then, both of them. But now, what came, must come 
without that chrism of impulse; must come in remem- 
brance and regret. Awfully glad! That was what Cap- 
tain Morecombe had said. Was there no more between 
them than that? No more between her and this man, 
who was the father of her child. The sting of the 
thought made her draw him closer, and with a sob rest 
her head on his shoulder. Then he stooped and 


422 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

kissed her. ‘‘ I — I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure if you’d 
like it,” he said, “ but I’m awfully glad, old girl, upon 
my life I am. You must have had a terrible time.” 

She looked up with a hopeless pain in her eyes. He 
was gone from her again; gone utterly. “ It was not so 
bad as you might think,” she answered, trying to smile. 
“ Mr. Greyman did so much ” 

“Greyman! You mean Douglas, I suppose?” 

She stared for a second. “ Douglas? I don’t know. 

I mean ” Then she paused. How could she say, 

“ The man you rode against at Lucknow,” when she 
wanted to forget all that; forget everything? And then 
a sudden fear made her add haistily, “ He is here, surely — 
he came long ago.” 

Major Erlton nodded. “I know; but his real name 
is Douglas; at least he says so. Do you mean to say 
you haven’t seen him? That he didn’t help you to get 
out? ” . 

“ You mean that — that he has gone back? ” asked 
Kate faintly. 

Her husband gave a low whistle. What a queer 
start; a sort of Box and Cox. He went back to find 
you yesterday.” 

Kate’s hand went up to her forehead almost wildly. 
Then Tara must have known. But why had she not 
mentioned it? Still, in a way, it was best as it was; since 
once he heard she, Kate, had gone, he would return. 
For Tara would tell him, of course. 

These thoughts claimed her for the moment, and when 
she looked up, she found her husband watching her 
curiously. 

‘‘ He must have done an awful lot for you, of course,” 
he said shortly; “ but I’d rather it had been anyone else, 
and that’s a fact. However, it can’t be helped. Hullo! 
here’s the khansaman with some tea. Thoughtful of the 
old scoundrel, isn’t it? ” 

“ I— I ordered it,” put in Kate, feeling glad of the 
diversion. 

Major Erlton laughed kindly. “ What, begun already? 
The old sinner’s had a precious easy time of it; but 
now ” He pulled himself up awkwardly, and, as if 


AT LAST, 


423 


to cover his hesitation, walked over to a bo^, and after 
rummaging in it, brought out a packet of letters. 
“ Freddy’s,” he said cheerfully. “ He’s all right. Jolly 
as a sandboy. I kept them — in — in case ” 

A great gratitude made the past dim for a moment. 
He seemed nearer to her again. “ I can’t look at them 
to-night, Herbert,” she said softly, laying her hand be- 
side his upon them. “ I’m — I’m too tired.” 

“ No wonder. You must have your tea and go to 
bed,” he replied. Then he looked round the tent. “ It 
isn’t a bad little place, you’ll find — I’m on duty to- 
night — so — so you’ll manage, I dare say.” 

“ On duty? ” she echoed, pouring herself out a cup of 
tea rather hastily. “Where?” 

“ Oh ! at the front. There is never anything worth 
going for now. We are both waiting for the assault; 
that’s the fact. But I shan’t be back till dawn, so ” 

He was standing looking at her, tall, handsome, full of 
vitality; and suddenly he lifted a fold of her tinsel-set 
veil and smiled. 

“ Jolly dress that for a fancy ball, and what a jolly 
scent it’s got. It is that flower, isn’t it? You look 
awfully well in it, Kate! In fact, you look wonderfully 
fit all round.” 

“ So do you! ” she said hurriedly, her hand going up 
to the henna blossom. There was a sudden quiver in her 
voice, a sudden fierce pain in her heart. “ You — you 
look ” 

“Oh! I,” he replied carelessly, still with admiring 
eyes, “ I’m as fit as a fiddle. I say! where did you get 
all those jewels? What a lot you have! They’re awfully 
becoming.” 

“ They are Mr. Greyman’s,” she said; “ they belonged 
to his — to ” then she paused. But the contemptu- 
ously comprehending smile on her husband’s face tjiade 
her add quietly, “ to a woman — a woman he loved very 
dearly, Herbert.” 

There was a moment or two of silence, and then Major 
Erlton went to the entrance, raised the curtain, and 
looked out. A flood of moonlight streamed into the 
tent. 


424 


ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


'' It’s about time I was off,” he said after a bit, and 
there was a queer constraint in his voice. Then he came 
over and stood by Kate again. 

“ It isn’t any use talking over — over things to-night, 
Kate,” he said quietly. “ There’s a lot to think of and I 
haven’t thought of it at all. I never knew, you see — if 
this would happen. But I dare say you have; you were 
always a oner at thinking. So — so you had better do it 
for both of us. I don’t care, now. It will be what you 
wish, of course.” 

“We will talk it over to-morrow,” she said in a low 
voice. She would not look in his face. She knew she 
would find it soft with the memory held in that one word 
— now. Ah! how much easier it would have been if 
she had never come back I And yet she shrank from the 
same thought on his lips. 

“ There was always the chance of my getting potted,” 
he said almost apologetically. “ But I’m not. So — 
well! let’s leave it for to-morrow.” 

“ Yes,” she replied steadily, “ for to-morrow.” 

He gathered some of his things together, and then 
held out his hand. “ Good-night, Kate. I wouldn’t lie 
awake thinking, if I were you. What’s the good if it? 
We will just have to make the best of it for the boy. But 
I’d like you to know two things ” 


“That I couldn’t forget, of course; and that ” he 

paused. “ Well! that doesn’t matter; it’s only about my- 
self and it doesn’t mean much after all. So, good-night.” 

As she moved to the door also, forced into following 
him by the ache in her heart for him, more than for her- 
self, the jingle of her anklets made him turn with an easy 
laugh. 

“ It doesn’t sound respectable,” he said; then, with a 
sudden compunction, added: “But the dress is much 
prettier than those dancing girls’, and — by Heaven, 
Kate! you’ve always been miles too good for me; and 
that’s the fact. Well! — let us leave it for to-morrow.” 

Yes! for to-morrow, she told herself, with a determina- 
tion not to think as, dressed as she was, she nestled down 
into the strange softness of the camp bed, too weary of 


AT last. 


425 


the pain and pity of this coming back even for tears. Yet 
she thought of one thing ; not that she was safe, not that 
she would see the boy again. Only of the thing he had 
been going to tell her about himself. What was it? She 
wanted to know; she wanted to know all — everything. 
“ Herbert! ” she whispered to the pillow, “ I wish you 
had told me — I want to know — I want to make it easier-r^ 
for — for us all.” 

And so, not even grateful for her escape, she fell asleep 
dreamlessly. 

It was dawn when she woke with the sound of some- 
one talking outside. He had come back. No! that was 
not his voice. She sat up listening. 

“ The servants say she is asleep. Someone had better 
go in and wake her. The Doctor ” 

“He’s behind with the dhooli. Ah! there’s More- 
combe; he knows her.” 

But there was no n^ed to call her, Kate was already 
at the door, her eyes wide with the certainty of evil. 
There was no need even to tell her what had happened; 
for in the first rays of the rising sun, seen almost star- 
like behind a dip in the rocky ridge, she saw a little pro^ 
cession making for the tent. 

“ He — he is dead,” , she said quietly. There was hardly 
a question in her tone. She knew it must be so. Had 
he not begged her to leave it till to-morrow? and this was 
to-morrow. Were ,not her eyes full of its rising sun, 
and what its beams, held in their bright clasp? 

“ It seems impossible,” said someone in a low voice, 
breaking in on the pitiful silence. “ He always seemed 
to have a charmed life, and then, in an instant, when 
nothing was going on, the chance bullet.” 

It did not seem impossible to her. 

“ Please don’t make a fuss about me. Doctor,” she 
pleaded in a tone which went to his heart when he pro- 
posed the conventional solaces. “ Remember I have 
been through so — so much already. I can bear it. I 
can, indeed, if I’m left alone with him-— while it is possi- 
ble. Yes! I know there is another lady, but I only want 
to be alone, with him.” 

So they left her there beside the little camp-bed with 


426 OhT THE PACE OE THE WATERS, 

its new burden. There was no sign of strife upon him. 
Only that blue mark behind his ear among his hair, 
and his face showed no pain. Kate covered it with a 
little fine handkerchief she found folded away in a scented 
case she had made for him before they were married. It 
had Alice Gissing’s monogram on it. It was better so, 
she told herself; he would have liked it. She had no 
flowers except the faded henna blossom, but it smelled 
sweet as she tucked it under the hand which she had 
left half clasped upon his sword. She might at least tell 
him so, she thought half bitterly, that the lesson was 
learned, that he might go in peace. 

Then she sat down at the table and looked over their ^ 
boy’s letters mechanically ; for there was nothing to think 
of now. The morrow had settled the problem. Cap- 
tain Morecombe came in once or twice to say a word or 
two, or bring in other men, who saluted briefly to her as 
they passed to stand beside the dead man for a second,- 
and then go out again. She was glad they cared to 
come; had begged that any might come who chose, as if 
she were not there. But at one visitor she looked curi- 
ously, for he came in alone. A tall man — as tall as 
Herbert, she thought — with a dark beard and keen, 
kindly eyes. She saw them, for he turned to her with the 
air of one who has a right to speak, and she stood up 
involuntarily. 

“ His name was up for the Victoria Cross, madam,” 
said a clear, resonant voice, “ as you may know; but that 
is nothing. He was a fine soldier — a soldier such as I — 
I am John Nicholson, madam — can ill spare. For the 
rest — he leaves a good name to his son.” 

The sunlight streamed in for an instant on to the 
little bed and its burden as he passed out, and glittered 
on the sword and tassels. Kate knelt down beside it and 
kissed the dead hand. 

“ That was what you meant, wasn^t it, Herbert? ” she 
whispered. “ I wish you had told it me yourself, dear.” 

She wished it often. Thinking over it all in the long 
days that followed, it came to be almost her only regret. 
If he had told her, if he had heard her say how glad she 
was, she felt that she would have asked no more. And 


AT LAST. 


427 

SO, as she went down every evening to lay the white rose- 
buds the gardener brought her on his grave she used to 
repeat, as if he could hear them, his own words: “ It is 
the finish that is the win or the lose of a race.” 

That was what many a man was saying to himself upon 
the Ridge in the first week of September. For the siege 
train had come at last. The winning post lay close 
ahead, they must ride all they knew. And those in com- 
mand said it anxiously; for day by day the hospitals be- 
came more crowded, and cholera, reappearing, helped 
to swell the rear-guard of graves, when the time had 
come for vanguards only. 

But some men — among them Baird Smith and John 
Nicholson — took no heed of sickness or death. And 
these two, especially, looked into each other’s eyes and 
said, “ When you are ready I’m ready.” Their seniors 
might say that an assault would be thrown on the hazard 
of a die. What of that; if men are prepared to throw 
sixes, as these two were? They had to be thrown, if 
India was to be kept, if this bubble of sovereignty was to 
be pricked, the gas let out. 

In the city and the Palace also, men, feeling the strug- 
gle close, put hand and foot to whip and spur. But there 
was no one within the walls who had the seeing single 
eye, quick to seize the salient point of a position. Baird 
Smith saw it fast enough. Saw the thickets and walls of 
the Koodsia Gardens in front of him, the river guarding 
his left, a sinuous ravine — cleaving the hillside into cover 
creeping down from the Ridge on his right to within two 
hundred yards of the city wall. And that bit of the wall, 
between the Moree gate and the Water Bastion, was its 
weakest portion. The curtain walls long, mere parapets, 
only wide enough for defense by muskets. So said the 
spies, though it seemed almost incredible to English 
engineers that the defense had not been stren^hened by 
pulling down the adjacent houses and building a ram- 
part for guns. 

In truth there was no one to suggest it, and if it had 
been suggested there was no one to carry it out, for even 
now, at the last, the Palace seethed with dissension and 
intrigue. Yet still the sham went on unconceivably. 


42 ^ ON THE eace Of The watbfs. 

Jim Douglas, indeed, walking through the bazaars in his 
Afghan dress, very nearly met his fate through it. For 
he was seized incontinently and made to figure as one of 
the retinue of the Amir of Cabul’s ambassador, who, 
about the beginning of September, was introduced to the 
private Hall of Audience as a sedative to doubtful dream- 
ers, and a tonic to brocaded bags. Luckily for him, how- 
ever, the men called upon to play the other part in the 
farce — chiefly cloth-merchants from Peshawur and else- 
where, whom Jim Douglas had dodged successfully so 
far — had been in such abject fear of being discovered 
themselves that they had no thought of discovering 
others. For Bahadar Shah had the dust and ashes of 
a Moghul in him still. Jim Douglas recognized the fact 
in the very obstinacy of delusion in the wax-like, haggard 
pld face looking with glazed, tremulous-lidded eyes at the 
?nock mission; and in the faded voice, accepting his 
vassal of Cabuhs promise of help. It was an almost in- 
credible scene, Jim Douglas thought. Given it, there 
was no limit to possibilities in this phantasmagoria of 
kingship. The white shadows of the marble arches with 
their tale of boundless power and wealth in the past, the 
wide plains beyond, the embroidered curtain of the sun- 
lit garden, the curves of courtiers — how many in the 
secret, he wondered? — and below the throne these tag- 
rag and bob-tail of the bazaars, one of them at least a 
hell-doomed infidel, figuring away in borrowed finery! 
It was as unreal as a magic lantern picture. Like it, 
followed hap-hazard, without rhyme or reason, by the 
next on the slide ; for, as he passed out of the Presence he 
heard the question of appointing a Governor to Bombay 
brought up and discussed gravely; that province being 
reported to have sent in its allegiance en bloc to the Great 
Moghul. The slides, however, were not always so digni- 
fied, so decorous. One came, a day or two afterward, 
showing a miserable old pantaloon driven to despair 
because six hundred hungry sepoys would not behave 
according to strict etiquette, but, invading his privacy 
with threats, reduced him to taking his beautiful new 
cushion from the Peacock Throne and casting it among 
]them. 


AT LAST. 429 

“ Take it/^ he cried passionately, “ it is all I have left. 
Take it, and let me go in peace! ’’ 

But the lesson was not learned by him as yet; so he 
had to remain; for once more the sepoys sent out word 
that there was to be no skulking. To do the Royal 
family justice, however, they seem by this time to have 
given up the idea of flight. To be sure they had no 
place to which they could fly, since the dream required 
that background of rose-red wall and marble arches. So 
even Abool-Bukr, forsaking drunkenness as well as that 
kind, detaining hand, clung to his kinsfolk bravely, be- 
having in all ways as a newly married young prince 
should who looked toward filling the throne itself at some 
future time.* 

The sepoys themselves had given up blustering, and 
many, like Soma, had taken to bhang instead; drugging 
themselves deliberately into indifference. The latter had 
recovered from the blow on the back of his head, which, 
however, as is so often the case, had for the time at any 
rate deprived him of all recollection of the events im- 
mediately preceding it. So, as Tara had restored his 
uniform before he was able to miss it, he treated her as 
if nothing had occurred; greatly to her relief. The fact 
had its disadvantages, however, by depriving her of all 
corroborative evidence of the mem having really left the 
city. Thus Jim Douglas, warned by past experience, 
and made doubtful by Tara’s strange reticences, refused 
to believe it. Her whole story, indeed, marred, as it 
was, by the endless reserves and exaggerations, seemed 
incredible; the more so because Tiddu — who lied wildly 
as to his constant sojourn in Delhi — professed utter dis- 
belief in it. So, after a few days’ unavailing attempt to 
get at the truth, Jim Douglas sent the old man off with a 
letter of inquiry to the Ridge, and waited for the answer. 

Waited, like all Delhi, under the shadow of the lifted 
sword which hung above the city. A sword, held behind 
a simulacrum of many, by one arm, sent for that purpose; 
for John Lawrence, being wise, knew that the shadow 
of that arm meant more even than the sword it held to 

* His widow died last year, having spent thirty-eight years of her 
fifty-four in cherishing the memory of a saint upon earth. 


OJV THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

the wildest half of the province under his control, a prov- 
ince trembling in the balance between allegiance and re- 
volt; a province ready to catch fire if the extinguisher 
were not put upon the beacon light. And all India 
waited too. Waited to see that sword fall. 

But a hatchet fell first. Fell in the lemon thickets and 
pomegranates of the walled old gardens, so that men who 
worked at the batteries still remember the sweet smell 
that went up from the crushed leaves. A welcome 
change; for the Ridge, crowded now with eleven thou- 
sand troops, was not a pleasant abode. It was on Sun- 
day, the 6th of September, that the final reinforcements 
came in, and on the yth the men, reading General Wil- 
son’s order for the appointing of prize agents in each 
corps, and his assurance that all plunder would be 
divided fairly, felt as if they were already within the walls. 
The hospitals, too, were giving up their sick; those who 
could not be of use going to the rear, Meerut-ward, those 
fit for work to the front. And that night the first siege 
battery was traced and almost finished below the Sammy- 
House, while, under cover of this distraction on the 
right, the Koodsia Gardens and Ludlow Castle on the 
left were occupied by strong pickets. 

But that first battery — only seven hundred yards from 
the Moree Bastion — had a struggle for dear life. The 
dawn showed but one gun in position against all the con- 
centrated fire of the bastion which, during the night, had 
been lured into a useless duel with the old defense batter- 
ies above. Only one gun at dawn ; but by noon — despite 
assault and battery — there were five, answering roar for 
roar. Then for the first time began that welcome echo : 
the sound of crumbling walls, the grumbling roll of fall- 
ing stones and mortar. By sunset the gradually dimin- 
ishing fire from the bastion had ceased, and the bastion 
itself was a heap of ruins. By this time the four guns 
in the left section of the battery were keeping down the 
fire from the Cashmere gate, and so protecting the real 
advance through the gardens. That was the first day of 
the siege, and Kate Erlton, sitting in her little tent, which 
had been moved into a quiet spot, as she had begged to 
be allowed to stay on the Ridge until some news came 


AT LAST. 


431 


of the man to whom she owed so much, thought with a 
shudder she could not help, of what it must mean to 
many an innocent soul shut up within those walls. It 
was bad enough here, where the very tent seemed to 
shake. It must be terrible down there beside the heating 
guns, in the roar and the rattle, the grime and the ache 
and strain of muscle. But in the city — even in Sri 
Anunda’s garden ! 

So, naturally enough, she wondered once more what 
could have become of the man who had gone back to 
find her nearly ten days before. 

‘‘ May I come in? John Nicholson.’' 

She would have recognized the voice even without the 
name, for it was not one to be forgotten. Nor was the 
owner, as he stood before her, a letter in his hand. 

“ I have heard from Mr. Douglas, Mrs. Erlton,” he 
said. “It is in the Persian character, so I presume it is 
no use showing it to you. But it concerns you chiefly. 
He wants to know if you are safe. I have to answer it 
immediately. Have you anv message vou would like to 
send?” 

“Any message?” she echoed. “Only that he must 
come back at once, of course.” 

John Nicholson looked at her calmly. 

“ I shall say nothing of the kind,” he replied. “ It is 
best for a man to decide such matters for himself.” 

She flushed up hotly. “ I had not the slightest inten- 
tion of dictating to Mr. — Mr. Douglas, General Nichol- 
son; but considering how much he has already sacrificed 
for my sake ” 

“ You had better let him do as he likes, my dear 
madam,” interrupted the General, with a sudden kindly 
smile, which, however, faded as quickly as it came, leav- 
ing his face stern. “ He, like many another man, has 
sacrificed too much for women, Mrs. Erlton; so if ever 
you can make up to him for some of the pain, do so — he 
is worth it. Good-by. I’ll tell him that you are safe; 
but that in spite of that, he has my permission to go 
ahead and kill — the more the better.” 

She had not the faintest idea why he made this last 
remark; but it did not puzzle her, for she was occupied 


432 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

with his previous one. Sacrificed too much! That was 
true. He carried the scars of the knife upon him clearly. 
And the man who had just left her presence, who, for all 
his courtesy, had treated her so cavalierly? She was 
rather vexed with herself for feeling it, but a sudden 
sense of being a poor creature came over her. It flashed 
upon her that she could imagine a world without women 
— she was in one, almost, at that very moment — but not 
a world without men. Yet that ceaseless roar filling the 
air had more to do with women than men; it went more 
as a challenge of revenge than a stern recall to duty. 

It was true. The men, working night and day in the 
batteries, thought little of men’s rights, only of women’s 
wrongs. Even General Wilson in his order had appealed 
to those under him on that ground only, urging them to 
spend life and strength freely in vengeance on murderers. 

And they did. Down in the scented Koodsia Gardens 
the men never seemed to tire, never to shrink, though 
the shot from the city — not two hundred and fifty yards 
away — flew pinging through the trees above them. But 
the high wall gave cover, and so those off duty slept 
peacefully in the cool shade, or sat smoking on the river- 
terrace. 

Thus, while the first battery, pounding away from the 
right at the Moree and Cashmere bastions, diverted at- 
tention, and the enemy, deceived by the feint, lavished 
a dogged courage in trying to keep up some kind of 
reply, a second siege battery in two sections was traced 
and made in front of Ludlow Castle, five hundred yards 
from the Cashmere gate. By dawn on the nth both sec- 
tions were at work destroying the defenses of the gatej 
and pounding away to breach the curtain wall beside it. 
So the roar was doubled, and the vibrations of the air 
began to quiver on the wearied ear almost painfully. Yet 
they were soon trebled, quadrupled. Trebled by a party 
of wide-mouthed mortars in the garden itself. Quad- 
rupled by a wicked, dare-devil, impertinent little company 
of six eighteen-pounders and twelve small mortars; 
which, with Medley of the Engineers as a guide, took ad- 
vantage of a half ruined house to creep within a hundred 


AT LAST. 


433 


and sixty yards of the doomed walls despite the shower 
of shell and bullets from it. For by this time the mur- 
derers in the city had found out that the men were at 
work at something in the scented thickets to the left. 
Not that the discovery hindered the work. The native 
pioneers, who bore the brunt of it, digging and piling for 
the wicked little intruder, were working with the master, 
lurking with volunteers — officers and men alike — from 
the 9th Lancers and the Carabineers. So, when one of 
their number toppled over, they looked to see if he were 
dead or alive in order to sort him out properly. And 
if he was dead they would weep a few tears as they laid 
him in the row beside the others of his kind, before they 
went on with their work quietly; for, having to decide 
whether a comrade belonged to the dead or the living 
thirty-nine times one night, they began to get expert at 
it. So by the 12th, fifty guns and mortars flashed and 
roared, and the rumble of falling stones became almost 
continuous. Sometimes a shell would just crest the 
parapet, burst, and bring away yards of it at a time. 

Up on the Ridge behind the siege batteries, when the 
cool of the evening came on, every post was filled with 
sightseers watching the salvos, watching the game. And 
one, at least, going back to get ready for mess, wrote and 
told his wife at Meerut, that if she were at the top of Flag- 
staff Tower, she would remain there till the siege was 
over — it was so fascinating. But they were merry on the 
Ridge in these days, and the messes were so full that 
guests had to be limited at one, till they got a new leaf 
in the table! Yet on the other slope of the Ridge, men 
were tumbling over like the stones in the walls. Tumb- 
ling over one after another in the batteries, all through 
the night of the 12th, and the day of the 13th. 

Then at ten o’clock in the evening, men, sitting in the 
mess-tents, looked at each other joyfully, yet with a thrill 
in their veins, as the firing ceased suddenly. For they 
knew what that meant ; they knew that down under the 
very walls of the city, friends and comrades were creep- 
ing, sword in one hand, their lives in the other, through 
the starlight, to see if the breaches were practicable. 


434 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


But the city knew them to be so; and already the last 
order sent by the Palace to Delhi was being proclaimed 
by beat of drum through the streets. 

So, monotonously, the cry rang from alley to alley. 

“ Intelligence having just been brought that the infi- 
dels intend an assault to-night, it is incumbent on all, 
Hindoo and Mohammedan, from due regard to their 
faith, to assemble directly by the Cashmere gate, bring- 
ing iron picks and shovels with them. This order is 
imperative.” 

Newasi Begum, among others, heard it as she sat read- 
ing. She stood up suddenly, overturning the book- 
rest and the Holy Word in her haste; for she felt that the 
crisis was at hand. She had never seen Abool-Bukr 
since the night, now a whole month past, when he had 
taunted her with being one more woman ready for kisses. 
Her pride had kept her from seeking him, and he had not 
returned. But now her resentment gave way before 
her fears. She must see him — since God only knew what 
might be going to happen ! 

True in a way. But up on the Ridge one man felt 
certain of one thing. John Nicholson, with the order 
for an assault at dawn safe in his hand, knew that he 
would be in Delhi on the 14th of September — a day 
earlier than he had expected. 


CHAPTER V. 

THROUGH THE WALLS. 

It was a full hour past dawn on the 14th of September 
ere that sudden silence fell once more upon the echoing 
rocks of the Ridge and the scented gardens. So, for a 
second, the twittering birds in the thickets behind them 
might have been heard by the men who, with fixed bayo- 
nets, were jostling the roses and the jasmines. But they 
were holding their breath — waiting, listening, for some- 
thing very different; while in the ears of many, exclud- 
ing all other sounds, lingered the cadence of the text 


THROUGH THE WALLS. 435 

read by the chaplain before dawn in the church lesson 
for the day. 

Woe to the bloody city — the sword shall cut 
thee off.” 

vFor to many the coming struggle meant neither 
justice nor revenge, but religion. It was Christ against 
Anti-Christ. So, whether for revenge or faith they 
waited. A thousand down by the river opposite the 
Water Bastion. A thousand in the Koodsia facing the 
main breach, with John Nicholson, first as ever, to lead 
it. A thousand more on the broad white road fronting 
the Cashmere Bastion, with an explosion party ahead to 
blow in the gate, and a reserve of fifteen hundred to the 
rear waiting for success. Briefly, four thousand five 
hundred men — more than half natives — for the assault, 
facing that half mile or so of northern wall; thus within 
touch of each other. Beyond, on the western trend, two 
thousand more — mostly untried troops from Jumoo and 
a general muster of casuals — to sweep through the sub- 
urbs and be ready to enter by the Cabul gate when it was 
opened to them. 

Above, on the Ridge, six hundred sabers awaiting 
orders. Behind it three thousand sick in hospital, a weak 
defense, and that rear-guard of graves. 

In front of all that tall figure with the keen eyes. 
“Are you ready, Jones?” asked Nicholson, laying his 
hand on the last leader’s shoulder. His voice and face 
were calm, almost cold. 

“Ready, sir!” 

Then, startling that momentary silence, came the 
bugle. 

“Advance!” 

With a cheer the rifles skirmished ahead joyfully. The 
engineers posted in the furthest cover long before dawn 
— who had waited for hours, knowing that each minute 
made their task harder — rose, waving their swords to 
guide the stormers toward the breach! Then, calmly, 
as if it had been dark, not daylight, crested the glacis at 
a swift walk, followed by the laddermen in line. Behind, 
with a steady tramp, the two columns bound for the 
breaches. But the third, upon the road, had to wait a 


436 


ON THE EACE OE THE WaIERB. 


while, as, like greyhounds from a leash, a little company 
slipped forward at the double. 

Home of the Engineers first with two sergeants, a 
native havildar, and ten Punjab sappers, running lightly^ 
despite the twenty-five pound powder bags they car- 
ried. Behind them, led by Salkeld, the firing party and 
a bugler. Running under the hail of bullets, faster as 
they fell faster, as men run to escape a storm; but these 
courted it, though the task had been set for night, and it 
was now broad daylight. 

What then? They could see better. See the outer 
gateway open, the footway of the drawbridge destroyed, 
the inner door closed save for the wicket. 

“ Come on,” shouted Home, and was across the bare 
beams like a boy, followed by the others. 

Incredible daring! What did it mean? The doubt 
made the scared enemy close the wicket hastily. So 
against it, at the rebels’ very feet, the powder bags were 
laid. True, one sergeant fell dead with his; but as it fell 
against the gates his task was done. 

“ Ready, Salkeld I — your turn,” sang out young Home 
from the ditch, into which, the bags laid, the fuse set, he 
dropped unhurt. So across the scant foothold came 
the firing party, its leader holding the portfire. But the 
paralysis of amazement had passed; the enemy, realizing 
what the audacity meant, had set the wicket wide. It 
bristled now with muskets; so did the parapet. 

“ Burgess! — your turn,” called Salkeld as he fell, and 
passed the portfire to the corporal behind him. Burgess, 
alias Grierson, — someone perchance retrieving a past 
under a new name, — took it, stooped, then with a half 
articulate cry either that it was “ right ” or “ out,” fell 
back into the ditch dead. Smith, of the powder party, 
lingering to see the deed done, thought the latter, and, 
matchbox in hand, sprang forward, cuddling the gate 
for safety as he struck a light. But it was not needed. 
As he stooped to use it, the port-fire of the fuse exploded 
in his face, and, half blinded, he turned to plunge head- 
long for escape into the ditch. A second after the gate 
was in fragments. 

“ Your turn, Hawthorne!” came that voice from the 


THROUGH THE WALLS. 


437 


ditch. So the bugler, who had braved death to sound it, 
gave the advance. Once, twice, thrice, carefully lest the 
din from the breaches should drown it. Vain precaution, 
not needed either; for the sound of the explosion was 
enough. That thousand on the road was hungering to 
be no whit behind the others, and with a wild cheer the 
stormers made for the gate. 

But Nicholson was already in Delhi, though ten min- 
utes had gone in a fierce struggle to place a single ladder 
against an avalanche of shot and stone. But that one 
had been the signal for him to slip into the ditch, and, 
calling on the ist Bengal Fusiliers to follow, escalade 
the bastion, first as ever. 

Even so, others were before him. Down at the Water 
Bastion, though three-quarters of the laddermen had 
fallen and but a third of the storming party remained, 
those twenty-five men of the 8th had gained the breach, 
and, followed by the whole column, were clearing the 
ramparts toward the Cashmere gate. Hence, again, 
without a check, joined by the left half of Nicholson’s 
column, they swept the enemy before them like fright- 
ened sheep to the Moree gate; though in the bastion it- 
self the gunners stood to their guns and were bayoneted 
beside them. There, with a whoop, some of the wilder 
ones leaped to the parapet to wave their caps in exulta- 
tion to the cavalry below, which, in obedience to orders, 
was now drawn up, ready to receive, guarding the flank 
of the assault, despite the murderous fire from the Cabul 
gate, and the Burn Bastion beyond it. Sitting in their 
saddles, motionless, doing nothing, a mark for the enemy, 
yet still a wall of defense. So, leaving them to that hard- 
est task of all — the courage of inaction — the victorious 
rush swept on to take the Cabul gate, to sweep past it 
up to the Burn Bastion itself — the last bastion which 
commanded the position. 

And then? Then the order came to retire and await 
orders at the Cabul gate. The fourth column, after clear- 
ing the suburbs, was to have been there ready for admit- 
tance, ready to support. It was not. And Nicholson was 
not there also, to dare and do all. He had had to pause 
at the Cashmere gate to arrange that the column which 


43 ^ ON THE EACE op THE WATERS. 

had entered through it should push on into the city, leav- 
ing the reserve to hold the points already won. And 
now, with the ist Fusiliers behind him, he was fighting 
his way through the streets to the Cabul gate. So, fear- 
ing to lose touch with those behind, over-rating the dan- 
ger, under-estimating the incalculable gain of unchecked 
advance with an eastern foe, the leader of that victorious 
sweeping of the ramparts was content to set the Eng- 
lish flag flying on the Cabul gate and await orders. But 
the men had to do something. So they filled up the 
time plundering. And there were liquor shops about. 
Europe shops, full of wine and brandy. 

The flag had been flying over an hour when Nicholson 
came up. But by that time the enemy — ^who had been 
flying too — flying as far as the boat bridge in sheer con- 
viction that the day was lost — had recovered some cour- 
age and were back, crowding the bastion and some tall 
houses beside it. And in the lane, three hundred yards 
long, not ten feet wide, leading to it, two brass guns had 
been posted before bullet proof screens ready to mow 
down the intruders. 

Yet once more John Nicholson saw but one thing — 
the Burn Bastion. Built by Englishmen, it was one of 
the strongest — the only remaining one, in fact, likely to 
give trouble. With it untaken a thorough hold on the 
city was impossible. Besides, with his vast knowledge of 
native character, he knew that the enemy had expected 
us to take it, and would construe caution into cowardice. 
Then he had the ist Bengal Fusiliers behind him. He 
had led them in Delhi, they had fallen in his track in tens 
and fifties, and still they had come on — they would do 
this thing for him now. 

‘‘We will do what we can, sir,^’ said their commandant. 
Major Jacob — but his face was grave. 

“ We will do what men can do, sir,” said the com- 
mandant of that left half of the column ; “ but honestly, 
I don’t think it can be done. We have tried it once.” 
His face was graver still. 

“ Nor I,” said Nicholson’s Brigade-major. 

Nicholson, as he stood by the houses around the Cabul 
gate, which had been occupied and plundered by the 


THROUGH THE WALLS. 


439 


troops, looked down the straight lane again. It hugged 
the city wall on its right, its scanty width narrowed here 
and there by buttresses to some three feet. About a 
third of the way down was the first gun, placed beside a 
feathery kikar tree which sent a lace-like tracery of 
shadow upon the screen. As far behind was the second. 
Beyond, again, was the bastion jutting out, and so forc- 
ing the lane to bend between it and some tall houses. 
Both were crowded with the enemy — the screens held 
bayonets and marksmen. There was a gun close to the 
bastion in the wall, but to the left, cityward, in the low, 
flat-roofed mud houses there seemed no trace of flank- 
ing foes. 

“ I think it can be done,’^ he said. He knew it must 
be done ere the Palace could be taken. So he gave the 
orders. Fusiliers forward; officers to the front! 

And to the front they went, with a cheer and a rush, 
overwhelming the first gun, within ten yards of the other. 
And one man was closer still, for Lieutenant Butler, 
pinned against that second bullet-proof screen by two 
bayonets thrust through the loopholes at him, had to 
fire his revolver through them also, ere he could escape 
this two-pronged fork. 

But the fire of every musket on the bastion and the 
tall houses was centered on that second gun. Grape, 
canister, raked the narrow lane — made narrower by fal- 
len Fusiliers — and forced those who remained to fall back 
upon the first gun — beyond that even. Yet only for a 
moment. Reformed afresh, they carried it a second time, 
spiked it and pressed on. Officers still to the front! 

Just beyond the gun the commandant fell wounded to 
death. “ Go on, men, go on! ” he shouted to those who 
would have paused to help him. “ Forward, Fusiliers! ” 

And they went forward; though at dawn two hundred 
and fifty men had dashed for the breach, and now there 
were not a hundred and fifty left to obey orders. Less !• 
For fifty men and seven officers lay in that lane itself. 
Surely it was time now for others to step in — and there 
were others! 

Nicholson saw the waver, knew what it meant, and 
sprang forward sword in hand, calling on those others to 


440 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


follow. But he asked too much. Where the ist Fusi- 
liers had failed, none cared to try. That is the simple 
truth. The limit had been reached. 

So for a minute or two he stood, a figure instinct with 
passion, energy, vitality, before men who, God knows 
with reason, had lost all three for the moment. A 
collossal figure beyond them, ahead of them, asking more 
than mere ordinary men could do. So a pitiful figure — a 
failure at the last! 

“ Come on, men! Come on, you fools — come on, you 


What the word was, which that bullet full in the chest 
arrested between heart and lips, those who knew John 
Nicholson’s wild temper, his indomitable will, his fierce 
resentment at everything which fell short of his ideals, 
can easily guess. 

“ Lay me under that tree,” he gasped, as they raised 
him. “ I will not leave till the lane is carried. My God! 
Don’t mind me! Forward, men, forward! It can be 
done.” 

An hour or two afterward a subaltern coming out of 
the Cashmere gate saw a dhooli, deserted by its bearers. 
In it lay John Nicholson in dire agony; but he asked 
nothing of his fellows then save to be taken to hospital. 
He had learned his lesson. He had done what others 
had set him to do. He had entered Delhi. He had 
pricked the bubble, and the gas was leaking out. But 
he had failed in the task he had set himself. The Burn 
Bastion was still unwon, and the English force in Delhi, 
instead of holding its northern half up to the very walls 
of the Palace, secure from flanking foes, had to retire on 
the strip of open ground behind the assaulted wall — if, 
indeed, it had not to retire further still. Had one man 
had his way it would have retired to the Ridge. Late in 
the afternoon, when fighting was over for the day. Gen- 
eral Wilson rode round the new-won position, and, map 
in hand, looked despairingly toward the network of nar- 
row lanes and alleys beyond. And he looked at some- 
thing close at hand with even greater forebodings; for 
he stood in the European quarter of the town among 
ghbps still holding vast stores of wine and spirits which 


THROUGH THE WALLS. 


441 


had been left untouched by that other army of 
occupation. 

But what of this one? This product of civilization, 
and culture, and Christianity; these men who could give 
points to those others in so many ways, but might barter 
their very birthright for a bottle of rum. Yet even so, 
the position must be held. So said Baird Smith at the 
chief’s elbow, so wrote Neville Chamberlain, unable to 
leave his post on the Ridge. And another man in hos- 
pital, thinking of the Burn Bastion, thinking with a 
strange wonder of men who could refuse to follow, 
muttered under his breath, “Thank God! I have still 
strength left to shoot a coward.” 

And yet General Wilson in a way was right. Five 
days afterward Major Hodson wrote in his diary: “The 
troops are utterly demoralized by hard work and hard 
drink. For the first time in my life I have had to see 
English soldiers refuse repeatedly to follow their officers. 
Jacob, Nicholson, Greville, Speke were all satrificed to 
this.” 

A terrible indictment. 

Yet not worse than that underlying the chief’s order 
of the 15th, directing the Provost-marshal to search 
for and smash every bottle and barrel to be found, and let 
the beer and wine, so urgently needed by the sick, run 
into the gutters; or his admission three days later that 
another attempt to take the Lahore gate had failed from 
“ the refusal of the European soldiers to follow their offi- 
cers. One rush and it could have been done easily — 
we are still, therefore, in the same position to-day as we 
were yesterday.” 

So much for drink. 

But the enemy luckily was demoralized also. It was 
still full of defense; empty of attack. 

For one thing, attack would have admitted a reverse; 
and over on that eastern wall of the Palace, in the fretted 
marble balcony overlooking the river, there was no men- 
tion, even now, of such a word. Reverse! Had not 
the fourth column been killed to a man? Had not Nik- 
alseyn himself fallen a victim to valor? But Soma, 
and rnany a man of his sort, gave up the pretense with 


442 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


bitter curses at themselves. They had seen from their 
own posts that victorious escalade, that swift, unchecked 
herding of the frightened sheep. And they — intolerable 
thought! — were sheep also. They saw men with dark 
faces, no whit better than they — better! — the Rajpoot 
had at least a longer record than the Sikh! — led to vic- 
tory while they were not led at all. So brought face to 
face once more with the old familiar glory and honor, 
the old familiar sight of the master first — uncompromis- 
ingly, indubitably first to snatch success from the grasp 
of Fate, and hand it back to them — they thought of the 
past three months with loathing. 

And as for Nikalseyn’s rebuff. Soma, hearing of it 
from a comrade, hot at heart as he, went to the place, 
and looked down the lane as John Nicholson had done. 
By all the Panda vas! a place for heroes indeed! Ah! if 
he had been there, he would have stayed there somehow. 
He walked up and down it moodily, picturing the 
struggle to himself; thinking with a curious anger of 
those men on the housetops, in the bastion, taking pot- 
shots at the unsheltered men below. That was all there 
would be now. They might drive the masters back for 
a time, they might inveigle them into lanes and reduce 
their numbers by tens and fifties, they, men of his sort, 
might make a brave defense. 

Defense! Soma wanted to attack. Attracted by the 
faint shade of the kikar tree he sat down beneath it, rest- 
ing against the trunk, looking along the lane once more, 
just as, a day or two before, John Nicholson had rested 
for a space. And the iron of failure entered into this 
man’s heart also, because there was none to lead. And 
with the master there had been none tO follow. 

Suddenly he rose, his mind made up. If that was so, 
let him go back to the plow. That also was a hereditary 
trade. 

That night, without a word to anyone, leaving his 
uniform behind him, he started along the Rohtuck road 
for his ancestral village. But he had to make a detour 
round the suburbs, for, despite that annihilation spoken 
of in the Palace, they were now occupied by the English. 

Yet but little headway had been made in securing a 
firmer hold within the city itself. 


THROUGH THE, WALLS. 


443 


You can’t, till the Burn Bastion is taken and the 
Lahore gate secured,” said Nicholson from his dying 
bed, whence, growing perceptibly weaker day by day, 
yet with mind clear and unclouded, he watched and 
warned. The single eye was not closed yet, was not 
even made dim by death. It saw still, what it had seen 
on the day of the assault; what it had coveted then and 
failed to reach. 

But it was not for five days after this failure that even 
Baird Smith recognized the absolute accuracy of this 
judgment, and, against the Chief’s will, obtained permis- 
sion to sap through the shelter of the intervening houses 
till they could tackle the bastion at close and command- 
ing quarters without asking the troops to face another 
lane. So on the morning.of the 19th, after a night of 
storm and rain cooling the air incredibly, the pick-ax 
began what rifles and swords had failed to do. By night- 
fall a tall house was reached, whence the bastion could 
be raked fore and aft. Its occupants, recognizing this, 
took advantage of the growing darkness to evacuate it. 
Half an hour afterward the master-key of the position 
was in English hands. 

Rather unsteady ones, for here again the troops — 
once more the 8th, the 75th, the Sikh Infantry, and that 
balance of the Fusiliers — had found more brandy. 

“ Poisoned, sir? ” said one thirsty trooper, flourishing 
a bottle of Exshaw’s Number One before the eyes of his 
Captain, who, as a last inducement to sobriety, was sug- 
gesting danger. “ Not a bit of it. Capsules all right.” 

But this time England could afford a few drunk men. 
The bastion was gone, and by the Turkoman and Delhi 
gates half the town was going. And not only the town. 
Down in the Palace men and women, with fumbling 
hands and dazed eyes, like those new roused from dreams, 
were snatching at something to carry with them in their 
flight. Bukht Khan stood facing the Queen in her 
favorite summer-house, alone, save^ for Hafzan, the 
scribe, who lingered, watching them with a certain malice' 
in her eyes. She had been right. Vengeance had been 
coming. Now it had come. 

All is not lost, my Queen,” said Bukht Khan, with 


444 ON THE FACE OF THE WATER'S. 

hand on sword. “ The open country lies before us, 
Lucknow is ours — come!” 

“ And the King, and my son,” she faltered. The dull 
glitter of her tarnished jewelry seemed in keeping with 
the look on her face. There was something sordid in it. 
Sordid, indeed, for behind that mask* of wifely solicitude 
and maternal care lay the thought of her hidden treasure. 

“ Let them come too. Naught hinders it.” 

True. But the gold, the gold! 

After he had left her, impatient of her hesitation, a 
sudden terror seized her, lest he might have sought the 
King, lest he might persuade him. 

“My bearers — woman! Quick!” she called to Haf- 
zan. “ Quick, fool! my dhooli! ” 

But even dhooli bearers have to fly when vengeance 
shadows the horizon; and in that secluded corner none 
remained. Everyone was busy elsewhere; or from 
sheer terror clustered together where soldiers were to 
be found. 

“ The Ornament-of-Palaces can walk,” said Hafzan, 
still with that faint malice in her face. “ There is none 
to see, and it is not far.” 

So, for the last time, Zeenut Maihl left the summer- 
house whence she had watched the Meerut road. Left 
it on foot, as many a better woman as unused to walking 
as she was leaving Delhi with babies on their breasts and 
little children toddling beside them. Past the faint out- 
line of the Pearl Mosque, through the cool damp of the 
watered garden with the moon shining overhead, she 
stumbled laboriously. Up the steps of the Audience 
Hall toward a faint light by the Throne. The King sat 
on it, almost in the dark; for the oil cressets on a trefoil 
stand only seemed to make the shadows blacker. They 
lay thick upon the roof, blotting out that circling boast. 
Before him stood Bukht Khan, his hand still on his 
sword, broad, contemptuously bold. But on either side 
of the shrunken figure, half lost in the shadows also, 
were other counselors. Ahsan-Oolah, wily as ever, 
Elahi Buksh, the time-server, who saw the only hope of 
safety in prompt surrender. 

“ Let the Pillar-of-Faith claim time for thought,” the 


THROUGH THE WALLS. 445 

latter was saying. There is no hurry. If the souba- 
dar-sahib is in one, let him go ” 

Bukht Khan broke in with an ugly laugh, Yea, 
Mirza-sahib, I can go, but if I go the army goes with me. 
Remember that. The King can keep the rabble. I 
have the soldiers.’’ 

Bahadur Shah looked from one to the other help- 
lessly. Whether to go, risk all, endure a life of unknown 
discomfort at his age, or remain, alone, unprotected, he 
knew not. 

“Yea! that is true. Still there is no need for hurry,” 
put in the physician, with a glance at Elahi Buksh. 
“ Let my master bid the soubadar and the army meet 
him at the Tomb of Humayon to-morrow morning. 
’Twill be more seemly time to leave than now, like a 
thief in the night.” 

Bukht Khan gave a sharp look at the speaker, then 
laughed again. He saw the game. He scarcely cared 
to check it. 

“ So be it. But let it be before noon. I will wait no 
longer.” 

As he passed out hastily he almost ran into a half- 
veiled figure, which, with another behind it, was hugging 
one of the pillars, peering forward, listening. He 
guessed it for the Queen, and paused instantly. 

“ ’Tis thy last chance, Zeenut Maihl,” he whispered in 
her ear. “ Come if thou art wise.” 

The last. No! not that. The last for sovereignty 
perhaps, but not for hidden treasure. Half an hour 
afterward, a little procession of Royal dhoolies passed 
out of the Palace on their way to Elahi Buksh’s house 
beside the Delhi gate, and Ahsan-Oolah walked beside 
the Queen’s. He had gold also to save, and he was wise; 
so she listened, and as she listened she told herself that 
it would be best to stay. Her life was safe, and her son 
was too young for the punishment of death. As for the 
King, he was too old for the future to hold anything 
else. 

HMzan watched her go, still with that half-jeering 
smile, then turned back into the empty Palace. Even in 
the outer court empty, indeed, save for a few fanatics 


446 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

muttering texts; and within the precincts, deserted 
utterly, silent as the grave. Until, suddenly, from the 
Pearl Mosque a voice came, giving the call to prayer; 
for it was not far from dawn. 

She paused, recognizing it, and leaving the marble 
terrace where she had been standing, looking riverward, 
walked over to the bronze-studded door, and peered in 
among the white arches of the mosque for what she 
sought. 

And there it was, a tall white figure looking westward, 
its back toward her, its arms spread skyward. A fanatic 
of fanatics. 

‘‘ Thou art not wise to linger here, Moulvie sahib,” she 
called. “ Hast not heard? The Burn Bastion is taken. 
The King and Queen have fled. The English will be 
here in an hour or so, and then ” 

“And then there comes judgment,” answered Mo- 
hammed Ismail, turning to look at her sternly. “ Doth 
not it lie within these walls? I stay here, woman, as I 
have stayed.” 

“Nay, not here,” she argued in conciliatory tones. 
“It lies yonder, in the outer court, by the trees shadow- 
ing the little tank. Thou canst see it from the window 
of my uncle's room. And he hath gone — like the others. 
Twere better to await it there.” 

She spoke as she would have spoken to a madman. 
And, indeed, she held him to be little else. Here was a 
man who had saved forty infidels, whose reward was 
sure. And who must needs imperil it by lingering 
where death was certain ; must needs think of his battered 
soul instead of his body. Mohammed Ismail came and 
stood beside her, with a curious acquiesence in regard to 
details which is so often seen in men mastered by one 
idea. 

“ It may be better so, sister,” he said dreamily. “ 'Tis 
as w^ll to be prepared.” 

Hafzan’s hard eyes melted a little, for she had a real 
pity for this man who had haunted the Palace per- 
sistently, and lost his reason over his conscience. 

If she could once get him into her uncle's room, she 
would find some method of locking him in, of keeping 


THROUGH THE WALLS, 447 

him out of mischief. For herself, being a woman, the 
Huzoors were not to be feared. 

“Yea! 'tis as well to be near,’' she said as she led the 
way. 

And the time drew near also ; for the dawn of the 20th 
of September had broken ere, with the key of the outer 
door in her bosom, she retired into an inner room, leav- 
ing the Moulvie saying his prayers in the other. Already 
the troops, recovered from their unsteadiness, had carried 
the Lahore gate and were bearing down on the mosque. 
They found it almost undefended. The circling flight of 
purple pigeons, which at the first volley flew westward, 
the sun glistening on their iridescent plumage, was 
scarcely more swift than the flight of those who at- 
tempted a feeble resistance. And now the Palace lay 
close by. With it captured, Delhi was taken. Its walls, 
it is true, rose unharmed, secure as ever, hemming in 
those few acres of God’s earth from the march of time; 
but they were strangely silent. Only now and again a 
puff of white smoke and an unavailing roar told that 
someone, who cared not even for success, remained 
within. 

So powder bags were brought. Home of the Engi- 
neers sent for, that he might light the fuse which gave 
entry to the last stronghold; for there was no hurry 
now. No racing now under hailstorms, and oyer tight- 
ropes. Calmly, quietly, the fuse was lit, the gate shiv- 
ered to atoms, and the long red tunnel with the gleam of 
sunlight at its end lay before the men, who entered it 
with a cheer. Then, here and there rose guttural Arabic 
texts, ending in a groan. Here and there the clash of 
arms. But not enough to rouse Hafzan, who, long ere 
this, had fallen asleep after her wakeful night. It needed 
a touch on her shoulder for that, and the Moulvie’s 
eager voice in her ear. 

“The key, woman! The key — give it! I need the 
key.” 

Half-dazed by sleep, deceived by the silence, she put 
her hand mechanically to her bosom. His followed hers; 
he had what he sought, and was off. She sprang to her 
feet, recognizing some danger, and followed him. 


448 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


‘‘ He is mad! He is mad! ” she cried, as her halting 
steps lingered behind the tall white figure which made 
straight for a crowd of soldiers gathered round the little 
tank. There were other soldiers here, there, everywhere 
in the rose-red arcades around the sun-lit court. Sol- 
diers with dark faces and white ones seeking victims, 
seeking plunder. But these in the center were all white 
men, and they were standing, as men stand to look at a 
holy shrine, upon the place where, as the spies had told 
them, English women and children had been murdered. 

So toward them, while curses were in all' hearts and on 
some lips, came the tall white figure with its arms out- 
spread, its wild eyes aflame. 

“O God of Might and Right! Give judgment now, 
give judgment now.” 

The cry rolled and echoed through the arcades to alien 
ears even as other cries. 

“ He is mad — he saved them — he is mad! ” gasped the 
maimed woman behind; but her cry seemed no different 
to those unheeding ears. 

The tall white figure lay on its face, half a dozen 
bayonets in its back, and half a dozen more were after 
Hafzan. 

“Stick him! Stick him! A man in disguise. Re- 
member the women and children. Stick the coward! ” 

She fled shrieking — shrill, feminine shrieks; but the 
men’s blood was up. They could not hear, they would 
not hear; and yet the awkwardness of that flying figure 
made them laugh horribly. 

“ Don’t ’ustie ’im! Give ’im time! There’s plenty o’ 
run in ’im yet, mates. Lord ! ’e’d get first prize at Lillie 
Bridge ’e would.” 

Someone else, however, had got it at Harrow not a 
year before, and was after the reckless crew. Almost 
too late— not quite. Hafzan, run to earth against a red 
wall, felt something on her back, and gave a wild yell. 
But it was only a boy’s hand. 

“ My God! sir, I’ve stuck you!” faltered a voice be- 
hind, as a man stood rigid, arrested in mid-thrust. 

“You d d fool!” said the boy. “Couldn’t you 

hear it was a woman? I’ll — I’ll have you shot. Oh, 


kEWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 449 

hang it all! Drag the creature away, someone. Get 
out, do! ” 

For Hafzan, as he stood stanching the blood from 
the slight wound, had fallen at his feet and was kissing 
them frantically. 

But even that indignity was forgotten as the stained 
handkerchief answered the flutter of something which at 
that moment caught the breeze above him. 

It was the English flag. 

The men, forgetting everything else, cheered them- 
selves hoarse — cheered again when an orderly rode past 
waving a slip of paper sent back to the General with the 
laconic report: 

“ Blown open the gates! Got the Palace! ” 

But HMzan, her veil up to prevent mistakes, limped 
over to where the Moulvie lay, turned him gently on his 
back, straightened his limbs and closed his eyes. She 
would have liked to tell the truth to someone, but there 
was no one to listen. So she left him there before the 
tribunal to which he had appealed. 


CHAPTER VI. 

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 

So the strain of months was over on the Ridge. Delhi 
was taken; the Queen’s health was being drunk night 
after night in the Palace of the Moghuls. But there was 
one person to whom the passing days brought a growing 
anxiety. This was Kate Erlton; for there were no tid- 
ings of Jim Douglas. None. 

At first she had comforted herself with the idea that he 
was still, for some reason or another, keeping to the yet 
unconquered part of the city; that he was obliged to do 
so being impossible, the long files of women and children 
seeking safety and passing through the Ridge fearlessly 
precluding that consolation. Still it was conceivable 
he might be busy, though it seemed strange he should 
have sent no word. So, like many another in India at 


45^ OM THE PACE OF THE WATERS. 

that time, she waited, hoping against hope, possessing 
her soul in patience. She had no lack of occupation to 
distract her. How could there be for a woman, when 
close on twelve hundred men had come back from the 
city dead or wounded? 

But now the 21st of September was upon them. The 
city was occupied, the work was over. Yet Captain 
Morecombe, coming back from it, shook his head. He 
had spent time and trouble in the search, but had failed — 
failed even, from Kate’s limited ideas “of their locality, 
to find either Tara’s lodging or the roof in the Mufti’s 
quarter. She could have found them herself, she said 
almost pathetically; but of course that was impossible 
now, and would be so for some time to come. 

“ I’m afraid it is no use, Mrs. Erlton,” said the Cap- 
tain kindly. ‘‘ There is not a trace to be found, even by 
Hodson’s spies. Unless he is shut up somewhere, he — 
he must be dead. It is so likely that he should be; you 
must see that. Possibly before the siege began. Let us 
hope so.” 

“Why?” she asked quickly. “You mean that there 
have been horrible things done of late? — things like that 
poor soldier who was found chained outside the Cash- 
mere gate as a target for his fellows? Have there? I 
would so much rather know the worst, — I used always to 
tell Mr. Douglas so, — it prevents one dreaming at night.” 
She shivered as she spoke, and the man watching her 
felt his heart go out toward her with a throb of pity. 
How long, he wondered irrelevantly, would it take her 
to forget the miserable tragedy, to be ready for con- 
solation? 

“Yes, there have been terrible things on both sides. 
There always are. You can’t help it when you sack 
cities,” he replied, interrupting himself hastily with a 
sort of shame. “ The Ghoorkhas had the devil in them 
when I was down in the Mufti’s quarter. They shot 
dozens of helpless learned people in the Chelon-ke- 
kucha — one who coached me up for my exams. And 
about twelve women in the house of a ' Professor of 
Arabic ’ — so he styled himself — ^jumped down the wall 
to escape — their own fears chiefly. For the men wanted 


, REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS, 45 1 

loot, nothing else. That is the worst of it. The whoie 
story from beginning to end seems so needless. It is as 
if Fate ” 

She interrupted ^him quietly, “ It has been Fate. Fate 
from beginning to end.” 

He sat for an instant with a grave face, then looked up 
with a smile. “ Perhaps. It’s rather apropos des bottes, 
Mrs. Erlton, but I wanted to ask you a question. Hadn’t 
you a white cockatoo, once? When you first came here. 
I seem to recollect the bird making a row in the 
veranda when I used to drive up.” 

Her face grew suddenly pale, she sat staring at him 
with dread in her eyes. “Yes!” she replied with a 
manifest effort, “ I gave it to Sonny Seymour because — 

because it loved him ” She broke off, then added 

swiftly, eagerly, “ What then? ” 

“ Only that I found one in the Palace to-day. There 
is a jolly marble latticed balcony overlooking the river. 
The King used to write his poetry there, they say. 
Well! I saw a brass cage hanging high up on a hook — 
there has been no loot in the precincts, you know, for 
the Staff has annexed them; I thought the cage was 
empty till I took it down from sheer curiosity, and there 
was a dead cockatoo.” ' 

“Dead!” echoed Kate, with a quick smile of relief. 
“ Oh! how glad I am it was dead.” 

Captain Morecombe stared at her. “Poor brute!” 
he said under his breath. “ It was skin and bone. 
Starved to death. I expect they forgot all about it when 
they got really frightened. They are cruel devils, Mrs. 
Erlton.” 

The Major had used the self-same words to Alice 
Gissing eighteen months before, and in the same connec- 
tion. But, perhaps fortunately for Kate in her present 
state of nervous strain, that knowledge was denied to 
her. Even so the coincidence of the bird itself absorbed 
her. 

“ It had a yellow crest,” she began. 

“Oh! then it couldn’t have been yours,” interrupted 
Captain Morecombe, rather relieved, for he saw that he 
had somehow touched on a hidden wound. “ This one 


452 ON THE FACE OF THE WATEES. ^ 

was green; yellowish green. I dare say the King kept 
pets like the Oude man ” 

“ It is dead anyhow/’ said Kate hurriedly. 

And the knowledge gave her an unreasoning com- 
fort. To begin with, it seemed to her as if those fateful 
white wings, which had begun to overshadow her world 
on that sunny evening down by the Goomtee river, had 
ceased to hover over it. And then this rounding of the 
tale — for that the bird was little Sonny’s favorite she did 
not doubt — made her feel that Fate would not leave that 
other portion of it unfinished. The inevitable sequence 
would be worked out somehow. She would hear some- 
thing. So once more she waited like many another; 
waiting with eyes strained past the last known deed of 
gallantry for the end which surely must have been nobler 
still. When that knowledge came, she told herself, she 
would be content. 

Yet there was another thing which held her to hope 
even more than this; it was the remembrance of John 
Nicholson’s words, “ If ever you have a chance of mak- 
ing up.” They seemed prophetic; for he who spoke 
them was so often right. Men talking of him as he lin- 
gered, watching, advising, warning, despite dire agony 
of pain and drowsiness of morphia, said there was -none 
like him for clear insight into the very heart of things. 

Yet he, as he lay without a complaint, was telling him- 
self he had been blind. He had sought more from his 
world than there was in it. And so, though the news of 
the capture of the Burn Bastion brought a brief rally, he 
sank steadily. 

But Hodson, coming into his tent to tell him of the 
safe capture of the King and Queen upon the 2ist at 
Humayon’s Tomb, found him eager to hear all particu- 
lars. So eager, that when the Sirdars of the Mooltanee 
Horse (a regiment he had practically raised), who sat out- 
side in dozens waiting for every breath of news about 
their fetish, would not keep quiet, he emphasized his third 
order by a revolver bullet through the wall of the tent. 
Greatly to their delight since, as they retired further off, 
they agreed that Nikalseyn was Nikalseyn still; and 
.surely death dare not claim one so full of life? 


/REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 


453 


Even Hodson smiled in the swift silence in which the 
laboring breath of the dying man could be heard. 

“ Well, sir,” he went on, “ as I was saying, I got per- 
mission, thanks to you, to utilize my information ” 

‘‘You mean Ru>jub- Ali’s and that sneak Elahi 
Buksh’s, I suppose,” put in Nicholson. “ It was sharp 
work. The King only went to Humayon’s Tomb yester- 
day. They must have had it all cut and dried before, 
surely?” 

“ The Queen has been trying to surrender on terms 
some time back, sir,” replied Hodson hastily. “ She has 
a lot of treasure — eight lakhs, the spies tell me— and is 
anxious to keep it. However, to go on. After stop- 
ping with Elahi Buksh that night — no doubt, as you say, 
pressure was put on them then— they went off, as agreed, 
to meet Bukht Khan, but refused to go with him. Of 

course the promise of their lives ” 

“ Then you were negotiating already? ” * 

“ Not exactly — but — but I couldn’t have done with- 
out the promise unless Wilson had agreed to send out 
troops, and he wouldn’t. So I had to give in, though 
personally I would a deal rather have brought the old 
man in dead, than alive. Well, I set off this morning 
with fifty of my horse and sent in the two messengers 
while I waited outside. It was nearly two hours before 
they came back, for the old man was hard to move. 
Zeenut Maihl was the screw, and when Bahadur Shah 
talked of his ancestors and wept, told him he should have 
thought of that before he let Bukht Khan and the army 
go. In fact she did the business for me; but she stipu- 
lated for a promise of life from my own lips. So I rode 
out alone to the causeway by the big gate — it is a splen- 
did place, sir; more like a mosque than a tomb, and 
drew up to attention. Zeenut Maihl came out first, 
swinging along in her curtained dhooli, and Rujjub, who 
was beside me, called out her name and titles decorously. 
I couldn’t help feeling it was a bit of a scene, you know ; 

* (Hodson in his diary says that the promise was virtually given two 
days before the capture. This was the 21st. It must therefore have 
been given on the 19th. Most likely in Elahi Buksh's house. If so, on 
Hodson's own authority. Query. Was he there in’person ?) 


454 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

my being there, alone, and all that. Then the King 
came in his palkee; so I rode up, and demanded his 
sword. He asked if I were Hodson-sahib bahadur and 
if I would ratify the promise? So I had to choke over 
it, for there were two or three thousand of a crowd by 
this time. Then we came away. It was a long five 
miles at a footpace, with that crowd following us until 
we neared the city. Then they funked. Besides I had 
said openly I’d shoot the King like a dog despite the 
promise at the first sign of rescue. And that’s all, except 
that you should have seen the officer’s face at the Lahore 
gate when he asked me what I’d got in tow, and I said 
calmly, ' Only the King of Delhi.’ So that is done.” 

And well done,” said Nicholson briefly, reaching 
out a parched right hand. “ Well done, from the begin- 
ning to the end.” 

Hodson flushed up like a girl. “ I’m glad to hear you 
say so, sir,” he replied as nonchalantly as he could, “ but 
personally, of course, I would rather have brought him 
in dead.” 

Even that slight action, however, had left Nicholson 
breathless, and the only comment for a time came from 
his eyes; bright, questioning eyes, seeking now with a 
sort of pathetic patience to grasp the world they were 
leaving, and make allowances for all shortcomings. 

“ And now for the Princes,” said Hodson. “ Did you 
write to Wilson, sir? ” 

Nicholson nodded, “ I think he’ll consent. Only — 
only don’t make any more promises, Hodson. Some of 
them must be hung; they deserve death.” 

His hearer gave rather an uneasy look at the clear 
eyes, and remarked sharply: “You thought they de- 
served more than hanging once, sir.” 

The old imperious frown of quick displeasure at all 
challenge came to John Nicholson’s face, then faded into 
a half-smile. “ I was not so near death myself. It 
makes a difference. So good-by, Hodson. I mayn’t 
see you again.” He paused, and his smile grew clearer, 
and strangely soft. “ No news, I suppose, of that poor 
fellow Douglas, who didn’t agree with us? ” 

“ None, sir; T warned him it was useless and foolhardy 
to go back when my information , 


kEWAlWS AND PVNtSHMENTS, 


455 


‘‘No doubt/’ interrupted the dying man gently. 
“ Still, I’d have gone in his place.” He lay still for a 
moment, then murmured to himself. “ So he is on the 
way before me. Well! I don’t think we can be unhappy 
after death. And, as for that poor lady — when you see 
her, Hodson, tell her I am sorry — sorry she hadn’t her 
chance.” The last words were once more murmured to 
himself and ended in silence. 

Kate Erlton, however, did not get the message which 
would, perhaps, have ended her lingering hope. Major 
Hodson was too busy to deliver it. Permission to cap- 
ture the Princes was given him that very night, and 
early the next morning he set off to Humayon’s Tomb 
once more, with his two spies, his second in command, 
and about a hundred troopers. A small party indeed, to 
face the four or five thousand Palace refugees who were 
known to be in hiding about the tomb, waiting to see if 
the Princes could make terms like the King had done. 
But Hodson’s orders were strict. He was to bring -in 
Mirza Moghul and Khair Sultan, ex-Commanders-in- 
Chief, and Abool-Bukr, heir presumptive, uncondition- 
ally, or not at all. 

The morning was deliciously cool and crisp, full 
of that promise of winter, which in its perfection of 
climate consoles the Punjabee for six months of purga- 
tory. The sun sent a yellow flood of light over the 
endless ruins of ancient Delhi, which here extend for 
miles on miles. A nasty country for skulking enemies; 
but Hodson’s pluck and dash were equal to anything, 
and he rode along with a heart joyous at his chance; full 
of determination to avail himself of it and gain renown. 

Someone else, however, was early astir on this the 22d 
of September, so as to reach Humayon’s Tomb in time 
to press on to the Kootub, if needs be. This was the 
Princess Farkhoonda Zamani. Ever since that day, 
now more than a week past, when the last message to 
the city had warned her that the supreme moment for 
the House of Timoor was at hand, and she had started 
from her study of Holy Writ, telling herself piteously 
that she must find Prince Abool-Bukr — must, at all sac- 
rifice to pride, seek him, since he would not seek her 


4S6 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


must warn him and keep his hand in hers again — she 
had been distracted by the impossibility of carrying out 
her decision. For, expecting an immediate sack of the 
town, the Mufti’s people had barricaded the only exit 
bazaar-ward, and when, after a day or two, she did suc- 
ceed in creeping out, it was to find the streets unsafe, the 
Palace itself closed against all. But now, at least, there 
was a chance. Like all the royal family, she knew of 
these two spies, Rujjub-Ali and Mirza Elahi Buksh, who 
was saving his skin by turning Queen’s evidence. She 
knew of Hodson sahib’s promise to the King and Queen. 
She knew that Abool-Bukr was still in hiding with the 
arch-offenders, Mirza Moghul and Khair Sultan, at 
Humayon’s Tomb. Such an association was fatal; but 
if she could persuade him to throw over his uncles, and 
go with her, and if, afterward, she could open negotia- 
tions with the Englishmen, and prove that Abool-Bukr 
had been dismissed from office on the very day of the 
death challenge, had been in disgrace ever since — had 
even been condemned to death by the King; surely she 
might yet drag her dearest from the net into which 
Zeenut Maihl had lured him — with what bait she scarcely 
trusted herself to think! The first thing to be done, 
therefore, was to persuade Abool to come with her to 
some safer hiding. She would risk all; her pride, her 
reputation, his very opinion of her, for this. And surely 
a man of his nature was to be tempted. So she put on 
her finest clothes, her discarded jewels, and set off about 
noon in a ruth — a sort of curtain-dhoolie on wheels 
drawn by oxen, gay with trappings, and set with jingling 
bells. They let her pass at the Delhi gate, after a brief 
look through the curtains, during which she cowered 
into a corner without covering her face, lest they might 
think her a man, and stop her. 

'‘By George! that was a pretty woman,” said the 
English subaltern who passed her, as he came back to the 
guard-room. " Never saw such eyes in my life. They 
were as soft, as soft as — well! I don’t know what. And 
they looked, somehow, as if they have been crying for 
years, and — and as if they saw — saw something, you 
know.” 


I^EIVAJWS AXD PUAUsmiENTS. 457 

“ They saw you — you sentimental idiot — that’s enough 
to make any woman cry,” retorted his companion. And 
then the two, mere boys, wild with success and high 
spirits, fell to horse-play over the insult. 

Yet the first boy was right. Newasi’s eyes had seen 
something day and night, night and day, ever since they 
had strained into the darkness after Prince Abool-Bukr 
when he broke from the kind detaining hand and disap- 
peared from the Mufti’s quarter. And that something 
was a flood of sunlight holding a figure, as she had seen 
it more than once, in a wild unreasoning paroxysm of 
sheer terror. It seemed to her as if she could hear those 
white lips gasping once more over the cry which brought 
the vision. “ Why didst not let me live mine own life, 
die mine own death? but to die — to die needlessly — to 
die in the sunlight perhaps.” 

There was a flood of it now outside the ruth as it lum- 
bered along by the jail, not a quarter of a mile yet from 
the city gate. Half-shivering she peeped through the 
gay patchwork curtains to assure herself it held no 
horror. 

God and his Holy Prophet! What was that crowd on 
the road ahead? No, not ahead, she was in it, now, so 
that the oxen paused, unable to go on. A crowd, a clus- 
ter of spear-points, and then, against the jail wall, an 
open space round another ruth, an Englishman on foot, 
three figures stripped. No; not three! only two, for one 
had fallen as the crack of a carbine rang through the. 
startled air. Two? But one, now, ^nd that, oh! saints 
have mercy! the vision! the vision! It was Abool, 
dodging like a hare, begging for bare life ; seeking it, at 
last, out of the sunshine, under the shadow of the ruth 
wheels. 

“Abool! Abool!” she screamed. ''I am here. 
Come! I am here.” 

Did he hear the kind voice? He may have, for it 
echoed clear before the third and final crack of the car- 
bine. So clear that the driver, terrified lest it should 
bring like punishment on him, drove his goad into the 
oxen; and the next instant they were careering madly 
down a side road, bumping over watercourses and 


45 ^ OM THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

ditches. But Newasi felt no more buf¥etings. She lay 
huddled up inside, as unconscious as that other figure 
which, by Major Hodson’s orders-, was being dragged 
out from under the wheels and placed upon it beside the 
two other corpses for conveyance to the city. And none 
of all the crowd, ready^ — so the tale runs — to rescue the 
Princes lest death should be their portion in the future, 
raised voice or hand to avenge them now that it had 
come so ruthlessly, so wantonly. Perhaps the English 
guard at the Delhi gate cowed them, as it had cowed 
those who the day before had followed the King so far, 
then slunk away. 

So the little cortege moved on peacefully; far more 
peacefully than the other ruth, which, with its uncon- 
scious burden, was racing Kootub-ward as if it was 
afraid of the very sunshine. But the Princess Far- 
khoonda, huddled up in all her jewels and fineries, had 
forgotten even that; forgotten even that vision seen in it. 

But Hodson as he rode at ease behind the dead 
Princes seemed to court the light. He gloried in the 
deed, telling himself that “ in less than twenty-four hours 
he had disposed of the principal members of the House 
of Timoor”; so fulfilling his own words written weeks 
before, “ If I get into the Palace, the House of Timoor 
will not be worth five minutes’ purchase, I ween.” Tell- 
ing himself also, that in shooting down with his own 
hand men who had surrendered without stipulations to 
his generosity and clemency, surrendered to a hundred 
troopers when they, had five thousand men behind them, 
he “ had rid the earth of ruffians.” Telling himself that 
he was “ glad to have had the opportunity, and was 
game to face the moral risk of praise or blame.” 

He' got the former unstintingly from most of his fel- 
lows as, in triumphant procession, the bodies were taken 
to the chief police station, there to be exposed, so say 
eye-witnesses, “ In the very spot where, four months 
before, Englishwomen had been outraged and murdered, 
in the very place where their helpless victims had lain.” 

A strange perversion of the truth, responsible, per- 
haps, not only for the praise, but for the very deed itself; 
so Mohammed Ismail’s barter of his truth and soul for 


kEWAkDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 459 

the lives of the fo'rty prisoners at the Kolwab counted 
for nothing in the judgment of this world. 

But Hodson lacked either praise or blame from one 
man. John Nicholson lay too near the judgment of 
another world to be disturbed by vexed questions in this; 
and when the next morning came, men, meeting each 
other, said sadly, “ He is de'ad.” 

The news, brought to Kate Erlton by Captain More- 
combe when he came over to report another failure, took 
the heart out of even her hope. 

“ There is no use in my staying longer. I’m afraid,” 
she said quietly. “ I’m only in the way. I will go back 
to Meerut; and then home — to the boy.” 

“ I think it would be best,” he replied kindly. I can 
arrange for you to start to-morrow morning. You will 
be the better for a change; it will help you to forget.” 

She smiled a little bitterly; but when he had gone she 
set to work, packing up such of her husband’s things as 
she wished the boy to have with calm deliberation; and 
early in the afternoon went over to the garden of her 
old house to get some fresh flowers for what would be 
her last visit to that rear-guard of graves. To take, also, 
her last look at the city, and watch it grow mysterious in 
the glamour of sunset. Seen from afar it seemed un- 
changed. A mass of rosy light and lilac shadow, with 
the great white dome of the mosque hanging airily above 
the smoke wreaths. 

Yet the end had come to its four months’ dream as it 
had come to hers. Rebellion would linger long, but its 
stronghold, its very raison d'etre, was gone. And 
Memory would last longer still ; yet surely it would not 
be all bitter. Hers was not.’ Then with a rush of real 
regret she thought of the peaceful roof, of old Tiddu, of 
the Princess Farkhoonda — Tara — Soma — of Sri Anunda 
in his garden. Was she to go home to safe, snug Eng- 
land, live in a suburb, and forget? Forget all but the 
tragedy! Yet even that held beautiful memories. Alice 
Gissing under young Mainwaring’s scarf, while he lay at 
her feet. Her husband leaving a good name to his son? 
Did not these things help to make the story perfect. No! 
not perfect. And with the remembrance her eyes filled 


46 o on the face of THE tVATERS. 

with sudden tears. There would always be a blank for 
her in the record. The Spirit which had moved on the 
Face of the Waters, bringing their chance of Healing and 
Atonement to so many, had left hers in the shadow. She 
had learned her lesson. Ah! yes; she had learned it. 
But the chance of using it? 

As she sat on the plinth of the ruined veranda, watch- 
ing the city growing dim through the mist of her tears, 
John Nicholson’s words came back to her once more, 
“ If ever you have the chance but it would never come 
now — never I 

She started up wildly at the clutch of a brown hand 
on her wrist — a brown hand with a circlet of dead gold 
above it. 

“Come!” said a voice behind her; “come quick! he 
needs you.” 

“ Tara! ” she gasped — “ Tara! Is — is he alive then? ” 

“ He would not need the mem if he were dead,” came 
the swift reply. Then with her wild eyes fixed on 
another gold circlet upon the wrist she held, Tara laughed 
shrilly. “ So the mem wears it still. She has not for- 
gotten. Women do not forget, white or black ” — with 
a strange stamp of her foot she interrupted herself 
fiercely — “come, I say, come!” 

If there had been doubts as to the Rajpootni’s 
sanity at times in past days, there was none now. A 
glance at her face was sufficient. It was utterly dis- 
traught, the clutch on Kate’s arm utterly uncontrolled; 
so that, involuntarily, the latter shrank back. 

“ The mem is afraid,” cried Tara exultantly. “ So be 
it! I will go back and tell the master. Tell him I was 
right and he wrong*, for all the English he chattered. I 
will tell him the mem is not suttee — how could she 
be ” 

The old taunt roused many memories, and made Kate 
ready to risk anything. “ I am coming, Tara — but 
where? ” She stood facing the tall figure in crimson, 
a tall figure also, in white, her hands full of the roses 
she had gathered. 

Tara looked at her with that old mingling of regret and 


kEWARD^ AMD PUNISHMENTS. 

approbation, jealousy and pride. “ Then she must come 
at once. He is dying — may be dead ere we get back.” 

“Dead!” echoed Kate faintly. “Is he wounded 
then?” 

A sort of somber sullenness dulled the excitement of 
Tara's face. “ He is ill,” she replied laconically. Sud- 
denly, however, she burst out again : “ The mem need not 
look so! I have done all — all she could have done. It 
is his fault. He will not take things. The mem can 
do no more; but I have come to her, so that none shall 
say, ‘ Tara killed the master.’ So come. Come quick! ” 

Five minutes after Kate was swinging cityward in a 
curtained dhooli which Tara had left waiting on the road 
below, and trjdng to piece out a consecutive story from 
the odd jumble of facts and fancies and explanations 
which Tara poured into her ear between her swift abuse 
of the bearers for not going faster, and her assertion that 
there was no need to hurry. The mem need not hope 
to save the Huzoor, since everything had been done. It 
seemed, however, that Tiddu had taken back the letter 
telling of Kate’s safety, and that in consequence of this 
the master had arranged to leave the city in a day or two, 
and Tiddu — born liar and gold grubber, so the Rajpootni 
styled him — had gone off at once to make more money. 
But on the very eve of his going back to the Ridge, Jim 
Douglas had been struck down with the Great Sickness, 
and after two or three days, instead of getting better, 
had fallen — as Tara put it — into the old way., So far 
Kate made out clearly; but from this point it became 
difficult to understand the reproaches, excuses, pathetic 
assertions of helplessness, and fierce declarations that no 
one could have done more. But what was the use of the 
Huzoor’s talking English all night? she said; even a sut- 
tee could not go out when everyone was being shot in the 
streets. Besides, it was all obstinacy. The master could 
have got well if he had tried. And who was to know 
where to find the mem? Indeed, if it had not been for Sri 
Anunda’s gardener, who knew all the gardener folk, of 
course, she would not have found the mem even now; 
for she would never have known which house to inquire 


462 


ON' THE FACE OF THE WATERC. 


at. Not that it would have mattered, since the mem' 
could do nothing — nothing — nothing 

Kate, looking down on the bunch of white flowers 
which she had literally been too hurried to think of lay- 
ing aside, felt her heart shrink. They were rather a fate- 
ful gift to be in her hands now. Had they come there of 
set purpose, and would the man who had done so much 
for her be beyond all care save those pitiful offices of the 
dead? Still, even that was better than that he should lie 
alone, untended. So, urged by Tara’s vehement upbraid- 
ings, the dhooli-bearers lurched along, to stop at last. It 
seemed to Kate as if her heart stopped also. She could 
not think of what might lie before her as she followed 
Tara up the dark, strangely familiar stair. Surely, she 
thought, she would have known it among a thousand. 
And there was the step on which she had once crouched 
terror-stricken, because she was shut out from shel- 
ter within. But now Tara’s fingers were at the padlock, 
Tara’s hand set the door wide. 

Kate paused on the threshold, feeling, in truth, dazed 
once more at the strange familiarity of all things. It 
seemed to her as if she had but just left that strip of roof 
aglow with the setting sun, the bubble dome of the 
mosque beginning to flush like a cloud upon the sky. 
But Tara, watching her with resentful eyes, put a differ- 
ent interpretation on the*pause, and said quickly: 

“ He is within. The mem was away, and it was 
quieter. But the rest is all the same — ^there is nothing 
forgotten — nothing.” 

Kate, however, heard only the first words, and was 
already across the outer roof to gain the inner one. Tara, 
still beyond the threshold, watched her disappear, then 
stood listening for a minute, with a face tragic in its in- 
tensity. Suddenly a faint voice broke the silence, and her 
hands, which had been tightly clenched, relaxed. She 
closed the door silently, and went downstairs. 

Meanwhile Kate, on the inner roof, had paused beside 
the low string bed set in its middle, scarcely daring .to 
look at its burden, and so put hope and fear to the touch- 
stone of truth. But as she stood hesitating, a voice, 
querulous in its extreme weakness, said in Hindustani: 


J^EIVAI^DS AND PUNISHMENTS, 463 

It is too soon, Tara; I don’t want anything; and — 
and you needn’t wait — thank you.” 

He lay with his face turned from her, so she could 
stand, wondering how best to break her presence to him, 
noting with a failing heart the curious slackness, the lack 
of contour even on that hard string bed. He seemed 
lost, sunk in it; and she had seen that sign so often of late 
that she knew what it meant. One thing was certain, 
he must have food — stimulants if possible — before she 
startled him. So she stole back to the outer roof, ex- 
pecting to find Tara there, and Tara’s help. But the roof 
lay empty, and a sudden fear lest, after all, she had only 
come to see him die, while she was powerless to fight that 
death from sheer exhaustion, which seemed so perilously 
near, made her put down the bunch of flowers she held 
with an impatient gesture. What a fool she had been 
not to think of other things ! 

But as she glanced round, her eye fell on a familiar 
earthenware basin kept warm in a pan of water over the 
ashes. It was full of chikken-brat , and excellent of its 
kind, too. Then in a niche stood milk and eggs — a bot- 
tle of brandy, arrow-root — everything a nurse could 
wish for. And in another, evidently in case the brew 
should be condemned, -was a fresh chicken ready for use. 
Strange sights these to bring tears of pity to a woman’s 
eyes; but they did. For Kate, reading between the lines 
of poor Tara’s confusion, began to understand the 
tragedy underlying those words she had just heard: 

“ I don’t want anything, Tara. And you needn’t wait, 
thank you.” She seemed to see, with a flash, the long, 
long days which had passed, with that patient, polite 
negative coming to chill the half distraught devotion. 

He must take something now, for all that. So, armed 
with a cup'and spoon, she went back, going round the 
bed so that he could see her. 

“ It is time for your food, Mr. Greyman,” she said 
quietly; “ when you have taken some, I’ll tell you every- 
thing. Only you must take this first.” As she slipped 
her hand under him, pillow and all, to raise his head 
slightly, she could see the pained, puzzled expression 


464 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 

narrow his eyes as he swallowed a spoonful. Then with 
a frown he turned his head from her impatiently. 

“You must take three,” she insisted; “you must, 
indeed, Mr. Greyman. Then I will tell you — every- 
thing.” 

His face came back to hers with the faintest shadow 
of his old mutinous sarcasm upon it, and he lay looking 
at her deliberately for a second or two. “ I thought you 
were a ghost,” he said feebly at last; “only they don’t 
bully. Well! let’s get it over.” 

The memory of many such a bantering reply to her 
insistence in the past sent a lump to her throat and kept 
her silent. The little low stool on which she had been 
wont to sit beside him was in its old place, and half- 
mechanically she drew it closer, and, resting her elbow 
on the bed as she used to do, looked round her, feeling 
as if the last six weeks were a dream. Tara had told 
truth. Everything was in its place. There were flowers 
in a glass, a spotless fringed cloth on the brass platter. 
The pity held in these trivial signs brought a fresh pang 
to her heart for that other woman. 

But Jim Douglas, lying almost in the arms of death, 
was not thinking of such things. 

“ Then Delhi must have fallen,” he said suddenly in 
a stronger voice. “ Did Nicholson take it? ” 

“ Yes,” she replied quietly, thinking it best to be con- 
cise and give him, as it were, a fresh grip on facts. “ It 
has fallen. The King is a prisoner, the Princes have 
been shot, and most of the troops move on to-morrow 
toward Agra.” 

It epitomized the situation beyond the possibility of 
doubt, and he gave a faint sigh. “ Then it is all over. 
I’m glad to hear it. Tara never knew anything; and it 
seemed so long.” 

Had she known and refused to tell, Kate wondered? 
or in her insane absorption had she really thought of 
nothing but the chance Fate had thrown in her way 
of saving this man’s life? Yes! it must have been very 
long. Kate realized this as she watched the spent and 
weary face before her, its bright, hollow eyes fixed on 
the glow which was now fast fading from the dome. 


REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 465 

“All over!” he murmured to himself. “Well! I sup- 
pose it couldn’t be helped.” 

She followed his thought unerringly; and a great pity 
for this man who had done nothing, where others had 
done so much, surged up in her and made her seek to 
show his fate no worse than others. Besides, this dis- 
couragement was fatal, for it pointed to a lack of that 
desire for life which is the best weapon against death. 
She might fail to rouse him, as those had failed who, but 
a day or two before, had sent a bit of red ribbon repre- 
senting the Victoria Cross to the dying Salkeld — the 
hero of the Cashmere gate — and only gained in reply a 
faint smile and the words, “ They will like it at home.” 
Still she would try. 

“Yes, it is over!” she echoed, “and it has cost so 
many lives uselessly. General Nicholson lost his trying 
to do the impossible — so people say.” 

Jim Douglas still lay staring at the fading glow. 
“ Dead ! ” he murmured. “ That is a pity. But he took 
Delhi first. He said he would.” 

“ And my husband ” she began. 

He turned then, with curiously patient courtesy. “ I 
know. Nicholson wrote that in his letter. And I have 
been glad — glad he had his chance, and — and — made so 
much of it.” 

Once more she followed his thought; knew that, 
though he was too proud to confess it, he was saying to 
himself that he had had his chance too and had done 
nothing. So she answered it as if he had spoken. 

“ And you had your chance of saving a woman,” she 
said, with a break in her voice, “ and you saved her. It 
isn’t much, I suppose. It counts as nothing to you. 

Why should it? But to me ” She broke off, losing 

her purpose for him in her own bitter regret and vague 
resentment. “ Why didn’t you let them kill me, and 
then go away?” she went on almost passionately. “ It 
would have been better than saving me to remember 
always that I stood in your way — better than giving me 
no chance of repaying you for all — ah! think how much! 
Better than leaving me alone to a new life — like — like all 
the others have done.’’ 


466 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS, 


She buried her face on her arm as it rested on the 
pillow with a sob. This, then, was the end, she thought, 
this bitter unavailing regret for both. 

So for a space there was silence while she sat with her 
face hidden, and he lay staring at that darkening dome. 
But suddenly she felt his hot hand find hers; so thin, so 
soft, so curiously strong still in its grip. 

“ Give me some more wine or something,” came his 
voice consolingly. “ Til try and stop — if I can.” 

She made an effort to smile back at him, but it was not 
very successful. His, as she fed him, was better; but it 
did not help Kate Erlton to cheerfulness, for it was 
accompanied by a murmur that the chikken-brdt was very 
different from Tara’s stuff. So she seemed to see a poor 
ghost glowering at them from the shadows, asking her 
how she dared take all the thanks. And the ghost re- 
mained long after Jim Douglas had dozed off; remained 
to ask, so it seemed to Kate Erlton, every question that 
could be asked about the mystery of womanhood and 
manhood. 

But Tara herself asked none when in the first gray 
glimmer of dawn she crept up the stairs again and stood 
beside the sleepers. For Kate, wearied out, had fallen 
asleep crouched up on the stool, her head resting on the 
pillow, her arm flung over the bed to keep that touch on 
his hand which seemed to bring him rest. Tara, once 
more in her widow’s dress, looked down on them silently, 
then threw her bare arms upward. So for a second she 
stood, a white-shrouded appealing figure against that 
dark shadow of the dome which blocked the paling 
eastern sky. Then stooping, her long, lissome fingers 
busied themselves stealthily with the thin gold chain 
about the sick man’s neck; for there was something in 
the locket attached to it which was hers by right now. 
Hers, if she could have nothing else; for she was suttee — 
suttee ! 

The unuttered cry was surging through her heart 
and brain, rousing a mad exultation in her, when half 
an hour afterward she re-entered the narrow lane lead- 
ing to the arcaded courtyard with the black old shrine 


REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 


467' 


hiding under the tall peepul tree. And what was that 
hanging over the congeries of roofs and stairs, the 
rabbit warren of rooms and passages where her pigeon- 
nest was perched? A canopy of smoke, and below it 
leaping flames. There were many wanton fires in Delhi 
during those first few days of license, and this was one of 
them; but already, in the dawn, English officers were at 
work giving orders, limiting the danger as much as pos- 
sible. 

“ We can’t save that top bit,” said one at last, then 
turned to one of his fatigue party. “ Have you cleared 
everybody out, sergeant, as I told you?” 

” Yes, sir! it’s quite empty.” 

It had been so five minutes before. It was not now; 
for that canopy of smoke, those licking tongues of flame, 
had given the last touch to Tara’s unstable mind. She 
had crept up and up, blindly, and was now on her knees 
in that bare room set round with her one scrap of culture, 
ransacking an old basket for something which had not 
seen the light for years, her scarlet tinsel-set wedding 
dress. Her hands were trembling, her wild eyes blazed 
like fires themselves. 

And below, men waited calmly for the flames to claim 
this, their last prize; for the turret stood separated from 
the next house. 

“My God!” came an English voice, as something 
showed suddenly upon the roof. “ I thought you said 
it was empty — and that’s a woman!” 

It was. A woman in a scarlet, tinsel-set dress, and all 
the poor ornaments she possessed upon her widespread 
arms. So, outlined against the first sun-ray she stood, 
her shrill chanting voice rising above the roar and rush 
of the flames. 

“ Oh ! Guardians eight, of this world and the next. 
Sun, Moon, and Air, Earth, Ether, Water, and my own 
poor soul bear witness! Oh! Lord of death, bear wit- 
ness that I come. Day, Night, and Twilight say I am 
suttee.” 

There was a louder roar, a sudden leaping of the 
flames, and the turret sank inwardly. But the chanting 


468 


ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. 


voice could be heard for a second in the increasing 
silence which followed. 

“ Shive-jee hath saved His own,” said the crowd, look- 
ing toward the unharmed shrine. 

And over on the other side of the city, Kate Erlton, 
roused by that same first ray of sunlight, was looking 
down with a smile upon Jim Douglas before waking him. 
The sky was clear as a topaz, the purple pigeons were 
cooing and sidling on the copings. And in the bright, 
fresh light she saw the gold locket lying open on the 
sleeper’s breast. She had often wondered what it held, 
and now — thinking he might not care to find it at her 
mercy — stooped to close it. 

But it was empty. 

The snap, slight as it was, roused him. Not, however, 
to a knowledge of the cause, for he lay looking up at her 
in his turn. 

“ So it is all over,” he said softly, but he said it with a 
smile. 

Yes! It was all over. Down on the parade ground 
behind the Ridge the bugles were sounding, and the men 
who had clung to the red rocks for so long were prepar- 
ing to leave them for assault elsewhere. 

But one man was taking an eternal hold upon them; 
for John Nicholson was being laid in his grave. Not in 
the rear-guard, however, but in the van, on the outer- 
most spur of the Ridge abutting on the city wall, within 
touch almost of the Cashmere gate. Being laid in his 
grave — by his own request — without escort, without 
salute; for he knew that he had failed. 

So he lies there facing the city he took. But his real 
grave was in that narrow lane within the walls where 
those who dream can see him still, alone, ahead, with 
yards of sheer sunlight between him and his fellow-men. 

Yards of sheer sunlight between that face with its 
confident glance forward, that voice with its clear cry, 
“Come on, men! Come on!” and those — the mass of 
men — who with timorous look backward hear in that 
call to go forward nothing but the vain r^ret for things 
familiar that must be left behind. “ Groing! Going! 
Gone!”, 


REWARDS AND PUNISIIMENTS. 4^9 

So, in a way, John Nicholson stands symbol of the 
many lives lost uselessly in the vain attempt to go for- 
ward too fast. 

Yet his voice echoed still to the dark faces and the 
light alike : 

Come on, men ! Come on ! 


BOOK VI. 


APPENDIX A. 

From A. Dashe, Collector and Magistrate of Kujabpore, to 
R, Tape, Esq., Commissioner and Supermtendent of 
Kwdbabad. 


Fol. No. O. 

Dated nth May, 1858. 

Sir : In reply to your No. 103 of the 20th April requesting me 
to report on the course of the Mutiny in my district, the measures 
taken to suppress it, and its effects, if any, on the judicial, execu- 
tive, and financial work under my charge, I have the honor to 
inclose a brief statement, which for convenience’ sake I have 
drafted under the usual headings of the annual report which I was 
unable to send irj till last week. I regret the delay, but the pres- 
sure of work in the English office due to the revising of forfeiture 
and pension lists made it unavoidable. 

I have the honor, etc., etc., 

A. Dashe, Coll, and Magte. 

Introductory Remarks.^ — So far as my district is concerned, 
the late disturbances have simply been a military mutiny. At no 
time could they be truthfully called a rebellion. In the outlying 
posts, indeed, the people knew little or nothing of what was going 
on around them, and even in the towns resistance was not thought 
of until the prospect of any immediate suppression of the mutiny 
disappeared. 

The small force of soldiers in my district of course followed 
the example of their brethren. Nothing else could be expected 
from our position midway between two large cantonments ; 
indeed the continuous stream of mutinous troops which passed 
up and down the main road during the summer had a decidedly 
bad effect. 

I commenced to disperse the disturbers of the public peace on 

* Every statement in this supposed report has been gleaned from a 
real one, or from official papers published at the time. I am responsible 
for nothing but occasionally the wording. 


470 


APPENDIX A. 


471 


the 2 1 St May. These were largely escaped felons from the Meerut 
jail ; and the fact that they were quite indiscriminate in their law- 
lessness enabled me to rally most of the well-doing people on my 
side. I hanged a few of the offenders, and having enlisted a small 
corps with the aid of some native gentlemen (whose names I 
append for reference), sent it out under charge of my assistant 
(I myself being forced throughout the whole business to remain 
at headquarters and keep a grip on things) to put down some 
Goojurs and other predatory tribes who took occasion to resort to 
their ancestral habits of life. 

No real opposition, however, was ever met with; but in June 
(after our failure to take Delhi by a coup de main becam.e known) 
there was an organized attempt to seize the Treasury. Fortu- 
nately I had some twenty or thirty of my new levy in headquarters 
at the time, so that the attempt failed, and I was able to bring one 
or two of the ringleaders (one, I regret to say, a man of consider- 
able importance in my district) to justice. 

I subsequently made several applications to the nearest canton- 
ment for a few European soldiers to escort my treasure — some two 
lakhs — to safer quarters. But this, unfortunately, could not be 
granted to me, so I had to keep a strong guard of men over the 
money who might have been more useful elsewhere. 

Until the fall of Delhi matters remained much the same. Iso- 
lated bands of marauders ravaged portions of my district, often, I 
regret to say, escaping before punishment could be meted out to 
them. The general feeling was one of disquiet and alarm to both 
Europeans and natives. My table attendant, for instance, absented 
himself from dinner one day, sending a substitute to do his wcrk, 
under the belief that I had given orders for a general slaughter of 
Mohammedans that evening. I had done nothing of the kind. 

After the fall of Delhi, as you are aware, the mutinous fugitives, 
some fifty or sixty thousand strong, marched southward in a com- 
pact body and caused much alarm. But after camping on the 
outskirts of my district for a few days, they suddenly disappeared. 

I am told they dispersed during one night, each to his own home. 
Anyhow they literally melted away, and the public mind seemed 
to become aware that the contest was over, and that the struggle 
to subvert British rul 6 had ignominiously failed. Matters there- 
fore assumed a normal aspect, but I believe that there is more 
shame, sorrow, and regret in the hearts of many than we shall 
probably ever have full cognizance of, and that it will take years’ 
for the one race to regain its confidence, the other its self-respect. 

Civil Judicature . — The courts were temporarily suspended for 
a week or two ; after that original work w'ent on much as usual, but 
the appellate work suffered. There was an indisposition both to 
institute and hear appeals, possibly due to the total eclipse of the 
higher appellate courts. I myself had little leisure for civil cases. 


472 


APPENDIX A. 


Criminal Justice, — There has been far less crime than usual 
during the past year. Possibly because much of it had necessarily 
to be treated summarily and so did not come on the record. I am 
inclined to believe, however, that petty offenses really are fewer 
when serious crime is being properly dealt with. 

Police. — The less said about the behavior of the police the 
better. The force simply melted away ; but as it was always in- 
efficient its absence had little effect, save, perhaps, in a failure to 
bring up those trivial offenses mentioned in the last para. 

Jails. — The jail was happily preserved throughout; for the 
addition of four or five hundred felons to the bad characters of my 
district might have complicated matters. I was peculiarly fortu- 
nate in this, since I learn that only nine out of the forty-three jails 
in the Province were so held. 

Revenue {Sub-head^ Land). — The arrears under this head are 
less than usual, and there seems no reason to apprehend serious 
loss to Government. 

{Opium). — There has, I regret to say, been considerable detri- 
ment to our revenue under this head, due to the fact that the 
smuggling of the drug is extremely easy, owing to its small bulk, 
and that the demand was greater than usual. 

{Stamps). — The revenue here shows an increase of Rs. 72,000. 
I am unable to account for this, unless the prevailing uncertainty 
made the public mind incline toward what security it could com- 
pass in the matter of bonds, agreements, etc. 

{Salt and Customs). — This department shows a very creditable 
record. My subordinates, with the help of a few volunteers, were 
able to maintain the Customs line throughout the whole disturb- 
ances. Its value as a preventative of roving lawlessness cannot be 
over-estimated. Four hundred and eighty-two smugglers were 
punished, and the Customs brought in Rs. 33,770 more than in 
’56. But the work done by this handful of isolated European 
.patrols, with only a few natives under them, to the cause of law 
and order, cannot be estimated in money. 

Education. — The higher education went on as usual. Primary 
instruction suffered. Female schools disappeared altogether. 

Public Works. — Many things combined to stop anything like a 
vigorous prosecution of new public works, and those in hand were 
greatly retarded. 


APPENDIX A. 


473 


Post-Office. — The work in this department suffered occasional 
lapses owing to the murder of solitary runners by lawless ruffians, 
but the service continued fairly efficient. An attempt was made, 
by the confiscation of sepoys' letters, to discover if any organized 
plan of attack or resistance was in circulation, but nothing incrim- 
inatory was found, the correspondence consisting chiefly of love- 
letters. 

Financial . — At one time the necessary cash for the pay of 
establishments ran short, but this was met by bills upon native 
bankers, who have since been repaid. 

Hospitals. — The dispensaries were in full working order through- 
out the year, and the number of cases treated — especially for 
wounds and hurts, many of them grievous — above the average. 

Health and Population . — Both were normal, and the supply of 
food grains ample. Markets strong, and well supplied throughout. 
Some grain stores were burned, some plundered ; but, as a rule, if 
A robbed B, B in his turn robbed C. So the matter adjusted 
itself. In many cases also, the booty was restored amicably when 
it became evident that Government could hold its own. 

Agriculture. — Notwithstanding the violence of contest, the 
many instances of plundered and burned villages, the necessary 
impressment of labor and cattle, and the license of mutineers con- 
sorting with felons, agricultural interests did not suffer. Plowing 
and sowing went on steadily, and the land was well covered with 
a full winter crop. 

General Remarks. — Beyond these plundered and burned villages, 
which are still somewhat of an eyesore, though they are recovering 
themselves rapidly, the only result of the Mutiny to be observed 
in my district is that money seems scarcer, and so the cultivators 
have to pay a higher rate of interest on loans. 

There are, of course, some empty chairs in the district durbar. 
I append a list of their late occupants also, and suggest that the 
vacancies might be filled from the other list, as some of those 
gentlemen who helped to raise the levy have not yet got chairs. 

In regard to future punishments, however, I venture to suggest 
that orders should be issued limiting the period during which 
mutineers can be brought to justice. If some such check on 
malicious accusation be not laid down we shall have a fine crop of 
false cases, perjuries, etc., since the late disturbances have, natur- 
ally, caused a good many family differences. In view of this also, 
I believe it would be safest, in the event of such accusations in the 
future, to punish the whole village to which the alleged mutineer 
belongs by a heavy fine, rather than to single out individuals as 
examples. In a case like the present it is extremely difficult to 


474 


APPENDIX B. 


measure the exact proportion of guilt attachable to each member 
of the community, and, even with the very greatest care, I find it 
is not always possible to hang the right man. And this is a 
difficulty which will increase as time goes on. 


APPENDIX B. 

Delhi, Christmas Day, 1858. 

Dear Mrs. Erlton : I can scarcely believe that two whole 
years have passed since I helped you to decorate a Christmas-tree 
in the Government college here. Those long months before the 
walls, and those others of wild chase after vanishing mutineers 
over half India seem to belong to someone else’s existence now 
that I — and the world around me — are back in the commonplaces 
of life. I was down to-day helping the chaplain’s wife with 
another tree — she has a very pretty sister, by the way, just out from 
England — and I almost fancied as I looked into the dim screened 
veranda where we are going to have an entertainment, that I 
could see you sitting there with little’ Sonny Seymour on your lap 
as I found you that afternoon half asleep — that interminable play 
about the Lord of Life and Death (wasn’t it ?) had been too much 
for you. 

Well, I can only hope that Mr. Douglas’ health and the pleas- 
ures of that Scotch home, of which you wrote me such a delight- 
ful description, will allow of your returning to India sometime and 
giving me a sight of you again. 

Meanwhile I am reminded that I sent you off a small parcel by 
last mail which I trust may arrive before the wedding, as this 
should do, and convey to you the kindly remembrances of friends 
many thousand miles away. Not that you will need to be reminded. 
I fancy that few who went through the Indian Mutiny will ever 
need to have the faces and places they saw there recalled to their 
memory. Terrible as it was at the time, I myself feel that I would 
not willingly forget a single detail. So, being certain that it holds 
your interest, your imagination also, I am inclosing something 
for you to read. Can you not imagine the Silent and Diffident 
Dashe writing it? I can, and the careful way in which he would 
order the gallows to be removed and lay down his sword in favor 
of his pen at the earliest opportunity. You see he favors clemency 
Canning. So do most of us out here except those who have not 
yet recovered their perves. I remember hearing Hodson — sad, 
wasn’t it ? his death over a needless piece of dare-devilry — very 
angry over something Mr. Douglas said about our all being in a 
blind funk. I am afraid it was true of a good m.any. Not Dashe, 
however, he kept his district together by sheer absence of fear, 
and so did many another. This report, then, will carry you on in 


APPENDIX B. 


475 


the story, as it were, since you left us. For the rest, there is not 
much to tell. You remember our old mess khansaman Numgal 
Khan.^ He turned up, with his bill, and out of pure delight 
insisted on feasting us so lavishly that we had to make him moder- 
ate his transports. Even with batta and prize money we should 
all have been bankrupt, like the royal family. I can’t help pitying 
'it. Of course we have pensioned the lot, but I expect precious 
little hard cash gets to some of those wretched women. One of 
them, no less a person than the Princess Farkhoonda Zamani, 
that beast Abool-bukr’s ally, has set up a girls’ school in the city. 
If she had only befriended you instead of turning you out to find 
your own fate, she would have done better for herself. Talking 
of friends and foes, it is rather amusing to find the villages full of 
men busy at their plows with a suspiciously military set about 
the shoulders, who, according to their own showing, never wore 
uniform, or doffed it before the Mutiny began. I was much struck 
with one of these defaulters the other day ; a big Rajpoot, who, 
but for his name, might have stood for the Laodicean sepoy you 
told me about. But names can be changed, so can faces ; and 
that reminds me that I had a petition from that old scoundrel 
Tiddu the other day — you know I have been put on to civil work 
lately, and shall end, I suppose, by being a Commissioner as well 
as a Colonel. He has had a grant of land given him for life, and 
he now wants*the tenure extended in favor of one Jhungi, who, he 
declares, helped you in your marvelous escape. It seems there 
was another brother, one Bhungi, who — but I own to being a little 
confused in the matter. Perhaps you can set me straight. Mean- 
while, I have pigeon-holed the Jhungi-Bhungi claim until I hear 
from you. The old man was well, and asked fervently after 
Sonny, who, by the way, goes home from Lucknow in the spring. 
I expect the Seymours are about the only family in India which came 
out of the business unscathed ; yet they were in the thick of it. 
Truly the whole thing was a mystery from beginning to end. I 
asked a native yesterday if he could explain it, but he only shook his 
head and said the Lord had sent a “ breath into the land.” But the 
most remarkable thing to my mind about the whole affair is the 
rapidity with which it proved the stuff a man was made of. You 
can see that by looking into the cemeteries. India is a dead level 
for the present ; all the heads that towered above their fellows laid 
low. Think of them all ! Havelock, Lawrence, Outram. The 
names crowd to one’s lips ; but they seem to begin and end with 
one — Nicholson ! 

Well, good-by ! I have not wished you luck— that goes with- 
out saying ; but tell Douglas I’m glad he had his chance. 

Ever yours truly, 

Charles Morecombe. 




\T> / 





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